The Dark Wolf
by SWWoman
Summary: That latest entry in the Wolf series. A broken, legendary Wolf needs help to recover from a terrible tragedy. A vicious serial killer stalks the streets of New York. Team Machine has its hands full.
1. Chapter 1

**I'm baaaaaack! As you can tell by the title, this is the latest story in the Wolf series.**

 **Big shout out to my beta for this installment, wolfmusic218. Thanks for all your help!**

 **As usual this fic is complete and betaed, so I will posting twice a week on Tuesdays and Fridays.**

 **Dedicated the Mi Amore ladies and the ladies of the Careese shipper page for keeping the flame alive. Thank you ladies for all your support and encouragement. I wouldn't be able to do this without you.**

* * *

Chapter 1

The homeless woman known only as Joan toddled through the park, pushing her cart filled with her precious few belongings. She stopped at every garbage can, rummaging through them for recyclables she could sell. She hummed tunelessly to herself as she worked for today had been a good day. The cops had skipped their morning raid on the warehouse where Joan and most of her homeless friends spent their nights, so she had been able to get several hours of uninterrupted sleep; a rare treat for an old woman who did not have a safe place to rest her head at night. Her scavenging had paid off with enough money for a large cup of coffee and a couple of doughnuts for her breakfast. For dinner Reverend Jeremy's soup kitchen had served her favorite meatloaf with gravy. Tonight on her way back to the warehouse, she had already scavenged enough recyclables to assure her of another hot cup of coffee in the morning. With a triumphant grin, Joan plucked another aluminum can from the garbage and dropped it into her cart.

Yes, today was a good day.

Joan's cart squeaked loudly as she pushed it towards the next can further down the pathway, but she still heard the groans that came from the bushes to her left clearly. She paused as she considered whether or not she should investigate. The homeless usually tried to keep to themselves and not go looking for trouble since trouble all too easily found them. One never knew what dangers lurked on the mean streets of the city, but Joan was a curious woman and she simply could not help herself.

She followed the sound for several yards until she came to the source, a dirty disheveled man lying on the ground under a tree in pool of his own puke. To Joan's horror, she could see some blood mixed in with the vomit. She'd lived on the street for years, she'd seen several of her follow homeless die vomiting blood, and she knew the consequences could be dire for the man if he did not receive medical attention.

She racked her brain trying to remember the man's name. Chris! He was Chris. He hadn't been homeless in Manhattan very long, Joan had only seen him for the first time a few months back. However, her intuition, finely honed after many years on the streets, told her there was something different about him. He wasn't like the other homeless people, he was…sad. He didn't hear voices, he wasn't paranoid, he didn't have flashbacks to traumatic events, nor was he disabled like the rest of the homeless population. He was just sad. Like John.

JOHN! John would know what to do, John would understand this man. She had to find John. But how?

Suddenly an idea struck her. She returned to the pathway, stopping to look up and down the path until she saw what she was looking for. She marched down the walkway and stood in front of one of the cameras that monitored that part of the park. "Hello?" she called and waved her arm.

There was no response from the camera. "Hello!" she said, more firmly this time. "I need to talk to John."

The red light on the camera came on and it swiveled slightly to focus on her better. "That's better," Joan said haughtily. "Now you listen. Tell John he needs to come here quickly, there is a man here who needs his help. Can you tell him that?"

The red light blinked twice then shut off. Joan nodded in satisfaction and settled on the nearest bench to wait. John would come soon and fix everything.

* * *

At that moment, John Reese, Alpha Wolf, vigilante, and family man was supervising his toddler daughter Cali as she "helped" him and his mate, Jocelyn Carter, clear the dinner dishes off the table. Joss would take a dish off the table hand it to Cali who would then toddle over to her father and solemnly hand it to him so he could put it in the dishwasher. Cali obviously was taking great pride in helping her parents, and her parents were having a hard time keeping their amusement to themselves. Taylor Carter had paused in his homework to watch and he too was having trouble not laughing out loud at the serious look in his baby sister's face.

John's phone buzzed in his pocket and he took it out, throwing a meaningful look at his mate as he did so. Joss nodded to acknowledge that she understood and took over sole supervision of Cali.

John was surprised to see that his message was not from his employer, Harold Finch, but from some anonymous source that he guessed was probably the Machine. He pushed the button on his phone to playback the message and was further surprised to see a video of Joan. "Now you listen. Tell John he needs to come here quickly, there is a man here who needs his help. Can you tell him that?"

Taylor watched the message over John's shoulder. "Isn't that the crazy old lady you hung with while you were homeless?" he asked.

"She's not crazy, just don't touch her stuff," John corrected automatically.

Joss's eyes widened in surprise when she heard Joan's voice coming out of John's phone. She cocked her head listening to the message. "Whelp, I guess we had better get going," she said as the message ended. "Taylor, can you put her sister to bed for us?"

Taylor scooped up his little sister. "Sure mom."

"I better call Shaw and Fusco for back up, we don't know what we're walking into." Joss dialed her phone as they headed out the door.

* * *

The wolves all converged on the park at the same time. "What's going on?" Fusco grumbled. "I'm missing the game."

John shrugged. "All we know is that there is someone here who needs our help."

"Do you know where Joan was?" Joss asked. "This is a big park."

John nodded. "I slept here a lot back in the day. Follow me."

They followed the Alpha as he led them straight to where Joan was waiting on her bench. Her face lit up as soon as she caught sight of them. "I knew you'd come!" she said.

"What's wrong?" John asked.

"There's a man, his name is Chris," Joan said, clearly proud of herself for remembering his name. "He's sick." Joan paused. "He's like you, John."

John looked puzzled at that last bit, but he knew better than to question his friend. "Where is he?"

Joan led them through the bushes until they came to the man.

Shaw gasped as soon as she saw his face. "Is that who I think it is?"

John squatted down for a closer look. "Christopher Brandon," he said in a reverent tone like he had just seen Batman himself.

Fusco wrinkled his nose in distaste. "Is he – drunk?"

The man groaned and the unmistakable stench of alcohol enveloped them. Reese grimaced as they looked at the filthy wolf lying in a pool of vomit at their feet. "He was a great warrior once. A legend in Wolf society." He couldn't keep the shock and sadness out of his voice.

Joss looked down into the old man's eyes. They were the exact same eyes John had had when she first met him. The loss, the hopelessness, the pain, they were all there. Her heart ached in her chest and at that moment she was determined to help this poor, hurting Wolf. Joss touched her mate's hand. "Let's get him cleaned up," she said softly. "Then we'll find out what happened."

Before they could act, the drunken Wolf stirred. "Woo…woo…oooo…"

"Cleaned up? We need to get him to shut up first! I ain't listenin' to this all the way to the safe house, Alpha," Fusco groused.

Shaw opened her bag of medical supplies. "Sounds like you every Saturday night when you strike out with some chick."

"That was once. ONCE! I-" he stopped as the two Alphas glared at them.

The tiny op stepped forward with a syringe and the old Wolf finally fell mercifully silent.

"Where do you want to take him?" Joss asked as John scooped the old Wolf up and tossed him over his shoulder in a fireman's carry.

"The loft is the closest safe house," John replied as he started walking towards the cars.

Shaw eyed the limp form of the former warrior draped over John's shoulders. "Don't you want some help with that?"

John shook his head. "He's very underweight."

John carefully placed Brandon in the SUV he and Joss had driven to the park, then the Wolves all drove over to the building where John's old loft was located. Once they reached the building, John once again carried Brandon in a fireman's carry into the lobby. To Joss's horror as they were walking to the elevator, Mrs. Kowalski, the building gossip, entered via a side door. "Good evening, Mrs. Kowalski," John smiled as he strolled casually by as if there wasn't a drunken legendary Wolf warrior draped over his shoulders.

"Um, hello, John," The wide-eyed old woman responded weakly as she stared. "Is your friend alright?"

"He's fine," John cheerfully replied. "He just needs a nap. And a bath." He gave her his most disarming smile.

Fortunately, at that moment, the elevator gave a cheerful ding to let them know it had arrived. They all piled on as Mrs. Kowalski continued to stare. "Going up?" John asked politely.

Mrs. Kowalski waved her hand. "Go ahead, I'll wait for the next one."

As the doors closed, Fusco made a gagging motion. "Hope this is a fast elevator," he mumbled. Joss wanted to chide him, but she had to admit the old Wolf smelled like he had been dragged through a latrine twice. The small, enclosed space was not helping.

The elevator arrived at the 5th floor and John carried Brandon down the hall to the loft. Joss unlocked the door, and John placed Brandon on the bed.

Fusco wrinkled his nose. "You know you're gonna have to burn those sheets after this?"

John shot him a dirty look but had to admit to himself that Brandon was in extremely rough condition. He couldn't help but wonder how this could happen to a Wolf of his stature, but he put that aside for now. First, they had to get the old warrior sober and cleaned up.

John started to carefully remove Brandon's coat. Joss moved to help him while Shaw and Fusco grabbed some medical supplies out of the well-stocked cabinets.

With a groan, Brandon came to. He looked around the loft, blinking his runny red eyes until they focused on John, the closest person to him.

"It's OK, you're among friends…," John started to say.

Brandon pushed John away and slid off the bed. He wobbled his way towards the door when Joss stepped in front of him. This was the first time the team had seen Brandon upright, and it was a bit of a shock to discover he was as tall as John. The female Alpha standing in his way only came up to his shoulder. Despite the height difference, she stood fearlessly in front of him, hands on hips with her Severe Mom look that Taylor and John knew all too well on her face. Brandon looked startled by the stubborn woman blocking his path to the door. He blinked at her in surprise.

"Where do you think you're going?" she demanded.

"Um, I was just going…" he gestured helplessly towards the door.

Joss lifted her chin, eyes blazing, and looked him square in the eye. "No you're _not_ ," she said firmly in the Voice that had kept Taylor on the right path throughout his teen years.

Brandon regarded the determined woman in front of him for a minute as the rest of the team held their breath. Slowly a smile spread across his face. "As Milady wishes," he slurred. He tried to bow but nearly fell over instead. He righted himself and wobbled back to bed collapsing in an undignified heap on the mattress.

"Doesn't it scare you when she does that?' Fusco asked John.

John smirked. "Yes."

"Actually it's kinda hot," Shaw said as she walked over to the bed.

John lifted an eyebrow at her.

"What? I'm not going to try to steal your girl. But if something happens to you, I may try to persuade her to change sides!"

"I'm standing right here!" Joss snapped.

Shaw gave her a wink and examined Brandon. "He's down for the count and then some," she said. "But he's in surprisingly good shape for a homeless drunk."

"Any evidence of drug addiction?" Joss asked with concern.

Shaw shook her head. "Nope, he's clean there. Two Buck Chuck is his one and only."

Just then Brandon hiccupped directly into Shaw's face. She scrunched up her nose and gagged. "And he's weaponized it."

"What about the blood in his vomit?" Joss asked.

Shaw shrugged. "Probably not a big deal, there wasn't very much. Sometimes if you barf enough your throat can get a bit raw. I think that's all it is."

She rolled him over and jammed a needle into his butt. "Vitamin shot," she explained. "He's a bit dehydrated and malnourished. Nothing a couple of days with regular access to food and clean water couldn't cure though." She rolled him back over, swabbed the inside of his elbow with antiseptic and deftly inserted an IV needle. She hung the bag from the robe hook on the side of the headboard. "This will help him with the dehydration. Hopefully, he won't be terribly hung over when he wakes up."

She straightened up and looked at John. "That all I can for him for now, Alpha. Do you want me to stay with him?"

"I'll stay," John said. "The rest of you can go home. Lionel can you give Joss a ride back to the Bunker?"

"Sure, Alpha," Lionel said. He turned to Joss. "I'll wait in the car while you say goodbye." Then he and Shaw left.

Joss slowly approached her mate as he stared down pensively at the old Wolf. Gently she placed her hand on his arm. "He'll be fine John. We'll get him all fixed up."

John covered her hand with his much larger one. "He's a legend Joss. Strong. Fearless. Something awful must have happened to bring him this low." His looked over at her, the concern in his eyes was obvious. "We may not be able to fix it."

"We'll figure it out," she predicted confidently and gave him a kiss. "See you later."

John watched her go, worry creasing his brow.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks to everyone to read and reviewed the last chapter! I love you all!**

 **This chapter is bit on the long side, but I wanted to put all of Chris's back story in one chapter. We'll get to the case in the chapter.**

* * *

Chapter 2

Just as Shaw predicted, Brandon slept for several hours. John slept on the couch with one ear listening for the Old Wolf. Finally, in the wee hours of the morning, John could hear him stirring. He got up and sat in the chair next to the bed until his guest woke up with a painful groan.

"Shite," the legendary Wolf moaned as he tried to sit up. He caught sight of John sitting quietly next to the bed. "Hello, who are you?"

"A concerned citizen," John smirked. "Joan called me when she found you passed out in the bushes. Call me John Reese."

"Joan...she the one who gets all miffed if you touch her stuff?" Brandon asked as he removed the IV needle from his arm.

"That's the one," John replied cheerfully.

Brandon looked around the luxurious loft. "I suppose I should thank her, this is an improvement over waking up in the bushes." He looked over at John. "You're Wolf aren't you? Old Bloodlines and born Alpha by the look of you."

"Yes," John replied simply.

"Thought so."

"You're Christopher Brandon," John said softly.

Brandon froze and stared hard at the Alpha. "Well, mate, I suppose you want to know how I wound up drunk in New York?" he asked coldly.

John stood up. "It can wait. Food first. Do you like pancakes?"

John fixed Brandon breakfast and then showed him the bathroom, the toiletries, and the clothes closet. "I'll be back in an hour, you can clean up and use any clothes that fit you." John then left to get some more groceries for the loft.

John returned to the safe house to find that Brandon had taken advantage of the shower, the razors, and the clothes. He was clean, shaved, and dressed in chinos and a black polo shirt. He was sitting in the kitchen sipping a cup of tea while reading the paper. John almost didn't recognize him.

"My compliments to whoever does the shopping," Christopher said in a rich baritone. "It's rare to find proper tea in this country."

"You can thank my employer and his wife. They've both spent time in Europe and insist on having good tea on hand at all times at all their properties." John took a seat at the table across from the warrior. "How are you feeling?"

"Like utter shite," the old Wolf responded. "But I have no one but myself to blame for that." He paused. "Thank you for giving me a warm bed and a meal. I am humbled by your kindness."

John inclined his head. "It was the least we could do for someone of your reputation."

Brandon snorted. "My reputation isn't worth a tuppence. You should have left me stewing in my own juices in that park."

John smirked. "You've met my mate, you know we couldn't do that."

Brandon had to smile at that. "She is a spitfire isn't she?"

John's face broke out into a wide grin. "She's stubborn and smart, mostly smart. I suggest you don't mess with her."

Brandon's head cocked to one side. "I can feel the happiness rolling off you when you talk about her. I once had someone who made me feel like that."

John turned somber. "I'm sorry. I lost someone once, we weren't mated, but I wound up like you, drunk on the streets. I can't imagine what it would be like to lose Joss."

The old Wolf leaned back in his chair. "Well now mate, it seems you and I are of a kind. May I ask what happened?"

"She wasn't Wolf, and she couldn't handle the Wolf inside of me. It frightened her, so I let her go. She married a man who looked perfect on the surface, but he abused her. She called me for help. I was unable to reach her in time. She was dead before I could get there."

"You blamed yourself." It wasn't a question, it was a statement of fact from someone who had similar regrets.

John nodded. "I spent my whole life protecting people, and I couldn't save the one who mattered most to me. I had no job, no purpose, no pack, no family. So I crawled into the gutter with a bottle and hoped for death."

"What stopped you?"

John smiled. "I got into a fight with some young punks on the subway. At the police station, a stubborn detective reminded me that there were good people in the world worth fighting for. Then I met my employer. He gave me a job and a purpose. The stubborn detective gave me love and a family."

John looked at Brandon with a small smile. "Now it's your turn to share."

Brandon sighed. "I grew up in Surrey, running with the pack there. Marianne, my mate and the light of my life, was also a member of that pack. We knew each other from the time we were cubs. I thought she was the most marvelous, beautiful girl in the world, even back then.

"I joined the Army straight out of school, and Marianne promised to wait for me. She kept her promise, we wrote to each other often, making plans for our future life. I got accepted into the SAS*, she started to gain a reputation as an artist, she and our mums started planning our wedding. Life was good.

"Then one day while I was stationed overseas the Wolf Hunters came."

John nodded. "The Surrey Massacre, I heard about it when I was in school."

Brandon had to look down at the table and took several deep breaths before he could continue. "Yes, I do believe that's what it came to be called. Half my pack was killed in one night. I lost my parents and my sister. I came very close to losing Marianne as well. She was gravely wounded. She lived, but she was never quite the same afterword.

"I was granted leave immediately. I hurried home, buried my family and my pack mates, and swore revenge. I got it, too." Brandon looked at John, his eyes as hard and as cold any of the vicious killers that John had seen. "The Wolf Hunters' victory was short-lived; I wiped them out within the year. I had my revenge and a new calling."

"How did Marianne feel about it?" John asked quietly.

"Straight to the heart of the matter, eh, Reese?" Brandon shot back. Then he sighed. "She wasn't a warrior like your fierce little mate. You were wise to walk away from the woman who couldn't handle your warrior side, but I was too in love with Marianne to let her go.

"We mated, just as we had always planned, but then I changed the plan to become The Warrior, killer of Wolf Hunters and defender of the defenseless. I dragged my poor mate all over the world, looking for people to kill. I told myself it was to protect my fellow Wolves, but truthfully I _enjoyed_ it. Every time I slit a throat or pumped a bullet into a body, it felt _good_. I felt powerful holding those lives in my hands. I let the darkness consume me. I suspect that Marianne was a little scared of me towards the end."

"I've been there," John said, his eyes sincere.

Brandon bowed his head. "Thank you for understanding. But I'm a monster."

"I am too," John said softly. "What happened to Marianne?"

"As my fame grew, Wolf Hunters began to target me. Marianne and I moved frequently, staying in a succession of safe houses provided by various Wolf packs. We changed vehicles daily, never took the same route twice, that kind of thing. Then, one day they caught up with us, or rather they found our safe house when I wasn't home. I was down at the local pub with some Alphas from the Continent about yet another battle to be fought," he said bitterly.

"Marianne died horribly…" his voice trailed off

John laid a hand on the man's arm. "We had Wolf Hunters here in New York a couple of years ago. I know what they do."**

"I wasn't there. I should have been there to protect her," Brandon whispered.

"You didn't know," John assured him.

"I killed them all. I tracked them down and I killed them. They died screaming," Brandon snarled. Then he bowed his head. "Then, after it was over, after I slit the last throat and the man bled out at my feet, I watched the life leave his eyes and realized I had nothing left to live for."

John cocked his head to one side. "No cubs?"

Brandon shook his head. "No. When Marianne was injured during the Massacre, they had to remove her uterus. Those Wolf Hunters always maimed the She Wolves in such a way that even if they survived their wounds, they would be unable to bear children." Brandon laughed a bitter sounding laugh. "Everyone thought it was _noble_ of me to mate with her despite the fact she could never have cubs. I was just being a selfish cur; I had been in love with her since I was ten years old. I simply couldn't imagine my life without her. Had I had an ounce of nobility in my body, I would have let her live her life quietly in the little village in Surrey where we grew up like she wanted."

Brandon abruptly got up and walked over to the windows overlooking the park. He stood there with his back to John, his body tense. John desperately wished Joss was there, she would know what to say.

"You said your employer gave you a purpose. What's your purpose, John?"

"We prevent bad things from happening to good people," John replied.

"We?"

"Besides me, there is Shaw, who you met last night, and my employer, Harold Finch. My mate Joss is an NYPD detective. She and her partner Lionel help out when we need them."

Brandon turned. "I was wondering about that arsenal in the second closet. A bomb vest. Really?"

John smiled. He had kept the vest that his ex-partner Kara Stanton had used in an attempt to persuade him to help her. John, was never one to waste a resource, had kept the vest and zipped more than one recalcitrant bad guy into it during an interrogation. It had proven to be rather effective.

"It's an interrogation tool," John smirked.

"Tell me more," the old Wolf said.

John shrugged. "We find people in trouble and protect them. Sometimes by any means necessary."

"So you're a warrior too."

"In a manner of speaking."

"That's a proper occupation for an Alpha Wolf."

"I'm glad you approve."

Brandon snorted at that. "Well, it explains why you're better armed than most armies."

John looked rather proud of himself. "I can't tell you more until I have a chance to talk my employer."

"I understand."

* * *

Late that night, Joss entered the master bath in the Carter-Reese family apartment- nicknamed "The Bunker" for its high tech security systems - to find her mate soaking in the large Jacuzzi tub. She swiftly divested herself of her clothes and joined him. She settled between his legs and relaxed back into his chest while he slipped his arms around her. This was a ritual with them whenever they were both home in the evenings which wasn't often.

"Cali down for the night?" John whispered as he gently nuzzled her temple.

"Out like a light," Joss purred as she lay her head back on his shoulder. "How did it go today with Brandon?"

"He's hurting inside. Wolf Hunters killed his mate." John told her Brandon's story.

"Sounds like someone else who was once a drunk on the streets," Joss commented.

She felt rather than saw John shake his head. "No. Brandon's situation is much worse. I never mated with Jessica. I loved her, but the mating bond is far more intense, far more integral to a Wolf's psyche. He's missing a piece of himself."

Joss was quiet for a minute. She understood what John was saying, her connection to him was far more profound than anything she had experienced in her first marriage. The thought of losing John was almost too much for her to even think about.

"We have to help him. John. There has got to be something we can do," Joss said.

John smiled into her hair, he knew she was going to say that. "I spoke to Finch today. He's going to offer Brandon a job."

"That's wonderful! He'll have a purpose again!"

Again, John shook his head. "I'm not sure if it will be enough."

"It's a start," Joss replied. "We have to start somewhere."

* * *

The next day. Brandon received another visit from John. This time he was accompanied by Shaw and a well-dressed, middle-aged man of average height, who walked with a pronounced limp. John introduced the dapper, bespectacled man as his employer, Harold Finch.

Shaw stopped in her tracks and gaped when she saw the tall, distinguished Brandon showered and shaved for the first time. "Who knew the drunk would clean up so well?"

"Thank you, I think," Brandon replied with a raised eyebrow. The corners of his mouth quirked up in amusement. "I take it this is your team medic?"

"She graduated from medical school but flunked out of her internship because of her bedside manner," John helpfully explained.

"Really? What's wrong with it?" Brandon deadpanned.

"Hilarious," Shaw snapped. "I should add a colonoscopy to your exam."

"Now, Ms. Shaw," Finch said in his most soothing voice, "be kind to our guest." He unpacked the shopping bag he was carrying, placing several packages on the table. Then he turned to Brandon. "I found some British foods at a specialty store, I hope you like them. I didn't know how long it's been since you had a taste of home."

Brandon looked at the small pile of items on the table and gave the billionaire a grateful smile. "Thank you, it's been a very long time since I've had some of these."

"Oh biscuits!" Shaw ripped open one of the packages of cookies Finch had purchased. She pulled out a cookie and took a bite. "Hey, these are supposed to be biscuits! These are cookies! Not that I'm complaining…"

Brandon struggled to control his laughter as John rolled his eyes and Finch removed his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose like he had a headache. "The British call cookies biscuits, Ms. Shaw. There are many words that don't mean the same in British English and American English."

"If cookies are biscuits, what do you call biscuits?" Shaw asked through a mouthful.

"We don't actually have what you would think of as a 'biscuit.' Scones are probably the closest, but they're denser and sweeter," Brandon explained patiently with more than a trace of amusement in his voice. "May I have some, too?"

Shaw held out pack and Brandon selected a couple of cookies. Finch and Reese busied themselves in the kitchen for several minutes making tea and coffee while Shaw and Brandon munched on their cookies. Then they sat down to with tea for Brandon and Finch, and coffee for Reese and Shaw.

"Thank you for your hospitality, Mr. Finch. I understand that this flat belongs to you," Brandon was genuinely grateful.

Finch quietly accepted the Wolf's gratitude with his usual quiet humility. "I'm happy to be in a position to help Mr. Brandon. You are welcome to stay as long as you need."

Brandon looked down at the table. "Thank you. I do need to spend a few days thinking about what's next for me."

"As for what is next for you Mr. Brandon, I have a proposal," Finch said, then he took a sip of his tea.

Brandon looked up from his own cup and fixed his eyes on the billionaire. In spite of himself he was curious. "I'm listening."

"Before we go any further, please understand that if you turn me down, you are still welcome to stay here as long as you need to recuperate. Furthermore, I will provide you with the funds you need to go anywhere in the world and establish yourself when it is time for you leave us."

Brandon raised his eyebrows. "That is exceedingly generous of you, Mr. Finch."

Finch made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "Mr. Reese and Ms. Shaw have made me aware of your exploits protecting those who cannot protect themselves. I feel it is the least I can do for a dedicated champion such as yourself."

"I am intrigued to hear your proposal."

"How much has John told you about what we do?"

"Not much, he's rather reticent," Brandon replied. "You prevent bad things from happening to good people."

Finch nodded. "He is rather fond of that phrase, but it is accurate." He took another sip of tea and then put his cup down. "Suppose I told you we have a way of predicting when someone is in trouble?"

Brandon blinked. "Brilliant!" he exclaimed. Then he frowned. "Why isn't such a magnificent tool in use by authorities all over the world? Marianne might have been saved!"

Finch gave the old Wolf a sympathetic look. "I am sorry, but we only have one team operating here in New York and one in Washington DC for now. We are expanding our reach by establishing teams in other cities, but finding people with the correct blend of skills and compassion has proven to be problematic. I went through several employees before I found Mr. Reese."

"He is one of a kind," Brandon observed. "You think I have the right stuff to join your band of Merry Men?"

Finch sipped his tea. "Mr. Reese and Ms. Shaw have vouched for your skill set, apparently your exploits are well documented in the Wolf community. The question is are you interested in continuing as a champion?"

"I have been thinking about that since Reese and I spoke. Like Reese, I need a purpose, Mr. Finch," the warrior replied. "I am too old to travel the world looking for Wolf Hunters, but I feel I can help you."

Finch nodded. "We thought you would say that." He picked up his cup and took another sip. "I need your word as a Wolf that you will never reveal to anyone what I am about to say to you."

"You have it, Finch." Brandon leaned forward. "I swear on Marianne's ashes that your secret is safe with me."

Finch placed his cup back on the saucer and folded his hands on the table in front of him. "After 9/11, I developed a computer algorithm that can predict terrorist activity. The Machine as we call it, utilizes security cameras, reads emails, texts and social media, to watch you and everyone. It uses the information to predict terrorist activity."

"I take it that you think privacy should be sacrificed for security, eh, Mr. Finch?" Brandon sneered.

"Actually, no." Finch was unfazed by Brandon's display of contempt. "I figured out a way to have both. Only the Machine has access to the data it collects. It's a closed system, with the data encrypted many times over. There have numerous attempts to breach its defenses, but it has withstood every attack.

"When the Machine determines that an attack is imminent, it gives the government only the social security number of someone to watch. The government does not know how the person is involved, they could be a target or a terrorist. They investigate and take appropriate action.

"The US government gets a list every morning of social security numbers. They send teams of agents to evaluate the people so named and if necessary, neutralize them. Miss Shaw was once on one of those teams until her partner asked too many questions. He was murdered by another team. We were able to save Ms. Shaw."

Brandon looked surprised. "So, the government will kill to keep it secret?"

Finch flinched at the question, which Brandon noticed. He raised an eyebrow at Finch. Finch sighed. "Yes, they will, and have, murdered people to keep the secret. My partner,my best friend, was murdered to keep the secret. At the time, a particularly vicious woman was the head of the intelligent services. She didn't just have Nathan murdered, she had the entire ferry blown up, killing numerous innocent people as well. As I'm sure you noticed, I was severely injured."

"Your paranoia is justified it seems," Brandon said. "However if the government is handling the terrorists, I'm not sure what your team does."

"A side effect of the Machine's abilities is that it sees much, much more than just terrorism, it sees everything. It produces two lists, the 'relevant' list which are the people suspected of being connected to terrorism somehow, and the 'irrelevant' list, the ordinary, everyday people who in trouble or about to cause trouble in the form of murder. We work the irrelevant list.

"Like the government, we only get a social security number. We have no idea if the person is a potential victim or a perpetrator. We investigate and take appropriate action."

Brandon leaned back in the chair, thinking. "Sounds illegal and dangerous."

Finch gazed at the Wolf steadily. "Quite," he said evenly.

Brandon grinned. "I'm in."

* * *

As the days turned into weeks, and the weeks turned into months, Brandon proved to be a good addition to the team. Regular meals gave him back the muscle he had lost during his years of homelessness and working with the team gave him a purpose again.

To be sure, there were bumps in the road. To John's amusement, Joss had to admonish him numerous times about trying to stick within the law whenever possible. She and Fusco had gotten quite good at creative report writing to cover for the vigilantes' "the ends justify the means" actions, and the police brass had gotten even better at ignoring any "minor" inconsistencies in those creatively written reports since the Wolf detectives got results. However, there were still times when Joss had to put her foot down or the whole Team Machine operation could be blown. After all, there was only so much that creative report writing and a willing-to-look-the-other-way chain of command could cover up.

Brandon, in his years working as a lone Wolf Warrior, had become a horrifyingly violent man. It was somewhat understandable given that his primary opponents of Wolf Hunters were equally or more violent, but Brandon seemed to _enjoy_ the violence. Even Shaw, who enjoyed a good beat down as much as the next secret agent, was appalled (and a little jealous) on more than one occasion by just how bloody the old Wolf was willing to get. It was one thing to incapacitate your opponent with one clean shot to a knee, but Brandon would beat the perpetrator to a grisly pulp if John or Shaw didn't intervene.

Over the years the NYPD had had many reports of the Man in the Suit and his diminutive female sidekick. Many officers dismissed them as an urban legend, but some had seen a few too many bullets in knees to dismiss the stories. But since the Man in the Suit was very good about limiting the damage to non-lethal wounds on those who were undeniably guilty, no one was willing to do too much about it. However, on the nights when Fusco would hang out with his old buddies in the local cop bar, he was beginning to hear disturbing reports of a tall, white haired man with an English accent who beat the crap out of suspects. When he dutifully reported what he had heard to Joss, she gave Brandon a tongue-lashing that made every other member of Team Machine flee the room, except Shaw. Shaw had to go take a cold shower and remind herself that Joss was already mated.

A thoroughly chastised Brandon promised to do better. And he did. Mostly. It was enough that the talk died off in the cop bars.

Even after Brandon became an asset to Team Machine, John still got the impression that the old Wolf was unsettled. Joss felt it too, but she insisted that all he needed was time. After all, helping people had salved the wounds of John, Shaw, and Finch, so Joss was confident the same would happen with Brandon. She refused to consider any other possibility.

John wasn't so sure, Brandon had suffered a traumatic loss with the murder of his beloved mate. He was carrying around a massive load of guilt, along with a profoundly damaged soul. Brandon had given into the Dark, and in doing so, he had allowed himself to become a monster in a way that none of the other team members had. John wasn't so sure the former warrior was willing to fight his way back to the Light without his Marianne by his side.

Occasionally, John would catch Brandon staring off into space with a haunted expression in his eyes. John knew that look, he himself had had it. John knew that Brandon was cataloging all the evil he had done, playing the horrific scenes back in his head, letting that voice in his mind remind him of the black marks on his soul. For John, it had taken several years of working the numbers and mating with a certain stubborn, yet compassionate, NYPD detective to quiet the voice in his head (which sounded suspiciously like Kara Stanton). Even then, that voice still occasionally reemerged. John couldn't imagine what it would take to still the voice in Brandon's mind. He wasn't even sure if it could be silenced.

* * *

 *** SAS stand for Special Air services. They are a special forces unit in the British Military similar to the SEALS or the Rangers in the American Military**

 **** Team Machine battled the Wolf Hunters in my previous story Little Lost Wolf**


	3. Chapter 3

**Now we start getting into the case...**

* * *

 **Chapter 3**

John woke up one morning in late autumn clinging precariously to the edge of the bed. As he awakened, he realized he would have to move very carefully to avoid falling on the floor. He opened his eyes to see Joss was in the exact same position on the other side of the bed. He could also see the reason they were in such precarious positions; sometime during the night, Cali had stealthily infiltrated their bed and was sprawled out between them, taking up far more than her fair share of the available space.

John couldn't be angry with his cub, though. She looked so adorable and peaceful sleeping there. Her mop of curls was spread out around her head and one arm hugged her stuffed wolf, Ruffy, close. Her pacifier had fallen out of her mouth and was lying next to her cheek.

John carefully shifted so that he was no longer in danger of plunging to the floor and watched his cub sleep. He reached out and gently traced her little nose, a tiny version of Joss's, with one finger. He marveled at his part in creating this perfect little person, the child he never thought he would have. No matter what else he did in his life, his daughter would be his greatest legacy.

He heard Joss shift and looked up to see his mate watching him with a smile on her face. "Amazing how much room a tiny little kid can take up in bed, isn't it?"

John smiled back. "I didn't even notice her getting in bed with us."

Joss shrugged. "I didn't either. She's even sneakier than her daddy."

"Well, every parent hopes their child surpasses them," John replied cheerfully.

Cali stirred and sat up, sleepily glaring at her parents for waking her up. Joss giggled. "Our girl is not a morning person. I think Auntie Shaw is a bad influence."

"You're just now figuring that out?" John growled as he carefully slid out of bed and scooped up his little girl. "I'll get her dressed while you take your shower."

"Thanks, babe. I'll give her breakfast and drop her off at daycare." Joss crawled out of bed and went into the bathroom.

John carried Cali into her room. "Do you want to wear red or blue today?" he asked pulling two outfits out of the closet.

"Purple," Cali replied pointing to a third outfit hanging in the closet.

"Honey," John replied patiently, "you wear that all the time. It's all torn up!"

"Purple," Cali replied rather forcefully this time.

John eyed the purple shirt. He was fully aware it was her current favorite, but Cali, like most toddlers, was hard on clothes. It had a hole in the side and several food stains. He swore he had worn nicer clothes when he was homeless. He really didn't want his precious daughter going out in public looking like a street urchin straight out of _Oliver Twist_.

John pulled a pink outfit out of the closet. "How about this one sweetie? You'll look so cute!"

"Purple!" Cali shrieked in a high-pitched tone that made Bear whimper.

John heard the water in the bathroom shut off and realized he was out of time. "Okay," he sighed. "Pick out some pants."

Cali responded by pulling a pair of lime green leggings out of a drawer. John sighed again.

Joss couldn't help her laughter when an apologetic looking John and a colorful Cali emerged from the bedroom. She wasn't surprised, she knew how headstrong her cub was, but she couldn't resist teasing her mate a bit. "Did daddy pick that outfit?" she asked with a smile.

John shot her a dirty look. "Me did!" Cali sang and did a pirouette to show off.

Joss laughed. "Someone has to make up for all your daddy's black and white suits."

John decided that as soon as Cali was out of that shirt for the night, he was throwing it away.

* * *

"Carter, Fusco, office," Captain Moreno barked as she walked by their desks. Joss and Lionel obediently got up and followed her. They were sure they were getting a new case, but puzzled as to why they would be dragged into the office to discuss it.

"Shut the door," Moreno commanded as Fusco and Carter followed her into her tidy office. Fusco obeyed and then joined Joss by taking a seat across the desk from their captain.

Moreno pushed file across the desk to the detectives. Joss flipped it open to see an official police portrait of a Filipina woman in her late 20's. "Officer Mylene Andrada," Moreno said. "For the last year she's been working in Vice as a decoy streetwalker. Last night ago she got into a car with a john and hasn't been seen since."

Joss felt a lead weight settle in her stomach. Suddenly she knew why they were having this conversation in the office rather than in the bull pen. "I assume the fact that we drew the case means the brass thinks she's been murdered?"

Moreno nodded sadly. "It's been twelve hours. She hasn't contacted her partner and her wire went dead as soon as she got in the car. Probably some sort of jamming tech. Her partner contacted her mother and all her friends, no one has heard from her. It's like she dropped off the face of the Earth. It's the logical conclusion."

Joss nodded. She was unwilling to give up on Officer Andrada just yet. Fusco gave her a long look out of the side of his eye. He knew that expression.

* * *

"She knew better to get in the car," Larry Parker, Mylene's partner insisted. "We've been doing this for a YEAR, she's never broken protocol before. She was too smart for that."

"How long did she talk with the john before she got in the car?"

"Just a minute or two."

"Did you try to stop her?" Joss asked.

Parker nodded, "I was screaming in her ear, but it was like she couldn't hear me." Parker put his head in his hands. "I tried to follow them in the van, but they vanished before I could get moving. I tried to call her, but there was no answer."

Joss kept her professional face on, but she was screaming inside. There was something off about this case, she could feel it.

"Are you sure this isn't a voluntary disappearance?" She asked

Parker shook his head. "Mylene is too level headed to do anything like this. She's really close to her mom, she would never run off and leave her."

Joss exited the interview room frustrated. All her training told her Parker was telling the truth and his emotions were real. He had no idea why his partner, who had an exemplary service record and by all accounts was as smart as they come, had done something so dangerous that went against all her training. Joss leaned her back against the wall as she watched a dejected Parker walk away, his head down and his shoulders slumped. With a sigh she rested her head back against the wall staring up at the ceiling. What was she missing? There was something very wrong with case, why couldn't she put her finger on it?

Fusco hurried up to her, interrupting her thoughts. "I just had a very interesting conversation with one of my CIs. I think we need to pay her a visit in person."

Joss nodded then straightened up to follow her partner down the hallway. Hopefully this was the break they were needed.

* * *

Fusco drove to the one of the poorest parts of the Bronx and parked on a street lined with ugly, blocky apartment buildings. He led Joss into a building where the lobby missing most of the linoleum on the floor and had a surplus of obscene graffiti. They took the stairs to the second floor where Fusco knocked on a door about half way down the hallway.

A middle-aged black woman opened the door warily and when she saw who it was she opened the door and gestured for the detectives to enter.

The apartment was appropriately shabby to match the shabby building. It consisted of a tiny living room, separated from a tinier kitchen by a table with a chipped Formica top. Beyond the kitchen, Joss could see a hallway that she knew would lead to a single bedroom and a bathroom. The whole space was dingy and depressing.

The woman sat down at the kitchen table and shook the ash from her cigarette into a cheap glass ashtray that cheerfully proclaimed "Welcome to Hawaii." "How ya doin', Fusco?" she asked in a voice that wasn't friendly or unfriendly.

"Not bad Lena," he said as he produced a carton of cigarettes from his coat and dropped it on the table as he and Joss seated themselves.

"Joss meet Lena Jasper, street name Isis," Fusco said.

"I had the name long before those punk-ass terrorist goons did," Lena snapped with another flick of ash from the cigarette into the ashtray.

Fusco ignored the interruption. "Lena this here is my partner, Joss Carter, you can talk freely in front of her."

"She better not be one of those HR pigs," Lena grumbled. "Last one you brought here shook me down for five hundred." She viciously stubbed out her cigarette.

"You don't need to worry about Denham," Fusco grinned. "Joss here put a bullet in him."

Lena grinned. "Good for you. Too bad you had to waste a bullet."

"It was worth it," Joss replied with a shrug. "Bullets are cheap."

Lena snickered. "You're OK, Carter." She turned to Fusco. "Whatcha need?"

"Tell us about the missing girls you mentioned to me earlier," Fusco replied quietly.

Lena instantly turned sober. Joss and Fusco waited while she pulled another cigarette from the pack and lit it with shaking hands. "We've been losing girls for months now. I know of five."

"Five?" Joss was shocked. "Has anyone reported it?"

Lena shrugged and took a drag off her cigarette. "They 'hos, no one cares about 'hos except other 'hos. We live a high risk-life style ya know? No one cared until that police chick got whacked. Now you people crawlin' all over the place."

"We don't know she's dead," Joss corrected her gently.

Lena took another drag and eyed Joss. "Stay real. You know as well as I do she ain't coming back. She with the missing 'hos in some pit somewhere."

Joss shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Deep down inside she knew Lena was probably right, but Joss was not ready to let go of the idea that they still might be able to save Officer Andrada.

"We'll need a list of the names of the missing and where they last seen," Joss said.

Lena flicked some ash off the table. "You got your little cop pad thingie? Start taking notes."


	4. Chapter 4

**Sorry this is a bit late, I've been buried at work and didn't have time to do the final edits to this chapter until now.**

 **Some of you are probably wondering why the Machine never alerted the team to the serial killer in NYC. I provide an explanation here, hopefully it works for you.**

 **For those of you who are sensitive, I should warn you that there is a paragraph in here where I describe the mutilation of a body. It's not very graphic or gory, but it is there.**

* * *

Chapter 4

Joss stormed into the Library with a grim looking Fusco in tow. "We need to talk Finch."

Harold Finch had been standing by the cabinet where he kept several of his precious first editions. He closed the book he had been looking through and replaced it, carefully closing the doors and locking the cabinet. "How can I help you Detective?" he asked politely.

"Five prostitutes and one vice cop missing in the last several months and we knew NOTHING!" Joss stood before him with her hands on her hips. "How could that happen? What is wrong with the Machine?"

Finch stared at her, clearly stunned, but he remained calm. "Are you sure?" he replied. "The Machine has never made a mistake before."

Joss took a deep breath and closed her eyes, making a visible effort to relax. She opened her eyes. "I'm sorry Harold. I know this isn't your fault and I shouldn't have jumped on you like that. But yes, I'm sure. Five working girls and one police officer are missing."

Finch looked grim. "I'm sorry Detective, I don't know why the Machine didn't warn us. I'll need more information in order to answer your question."

Fusco handed Finch a piece of paper. "This is from one of my best CIs. It's a list of the missing girls, the approximate date, time, and area where they were last seen. I added the information for the missing vice officer at the bottom. I can get you mug shots if you want to use facial recognition…"

"That won't be necessary, Detective," Finch said as he reached for the paper. "I can get them from the police computers myself."

Joss sighed. "Don't tell us that."

* * *

A few hours later Finch had the answer and it was disturbing. "Whoever took those women is very sophisticated, Detective. They picked areas with few cameras, and they drove a different car each time, but each car has heavily tinted windows so there are no pictures of the driver. He appears to pick his victims at random with no premeditation involved."

Joss rubbed her temples. "Because they used a different car each time, and picked his victims at the spur of the moment, the Machine was never able to identify the crimes were linked."

Finch nodded sadly. "No bodies have been found, so the Machine was not aware there even were crimes involved. Whoever this is, they seem to be highly experienced in avoiding detection. The Machine, however, is now aware of their modus operandi and working on the problem. I am hopeful it will be able to identify the attacker soon."

"Thanks Finch," Joss said wearily. She and Fusco got up from their chairs to leave when Finch stopped them.

"There is one other thing, Joss, Lionel," Finch said carefully.

The rare use of their first names put Joss on alert.

"I was able to trace Officer Andrada's cell phone. It was turned off, but…."

"But that's no problem for you, yes I know. Where is it?" Joss asked.

Finch pulled a map up on the screen and as soon as Joss saw that it was in a heavily wooded area on Long Island, her heart dropped and she knew the officer was dead. By the look on Fusco's face, he knew it too.

* * *

Joss and Fusco watched as the police tech carefully shifted the dirt from the shallow hole where the mutilated body of Mylene Andrada had been found. Around them, tiny flags marked the graves of seven other women. Not even Lena had not known the extent of the killer's bloodlust. It would take the techs several days before they were finished at the scene.

They watched silently as Coroner CeCe Wallace examined Andrada's remains. The policewoman had been so horribly mutilated that it was hard to look, even for the seasoned homicide detectives. Finally CeCe stood up and waved to her assistants. The two men moved forward and gently, with great care, placed the body in a bag and tagged it. The bag was placed in the Coroner's van and the door was quietly shut. The assistant stood for a few seconds with his hand resting on the door with his head bowed before he got in the driver's seat and started to drive away. As the van drove by, all the police officers on scene, including Carter and Fusco, snapped to attention and saluted their fallen comrade. Two motorcycle officers had been waiting on the road and they solemnly fell into line ahead of and behind the van, escorting it back to the city with lights flashing.

Joss and Lionel dropped their hands as the van turned the corner. They turned to the coroner as she walked up to them.

"What can you tell us CeCe?" Fusco asked. His voice sounded tired, so very tired.

CeCe, a middle-aged black woman of average height, smoothed her short, natural hair down and sighed. Joss had known her since the early days of their careers and could not remember a time, like now, where CeCe looked years older than she actually was. "My best guess is that she was killed shortly after she was taken, probably hours before you guys even drew the case. Her throat was slit, so deep she was almost decapitated. Death would have been real quick after that. From what I can tell, she was dead before the mutilation occurred. She was disemboweled, and it looks like several of her internal organs are missing. Her breasts were cut off, they were found in the grave with her. They cut her body up bad, like they _enjoyed_ it.

"From what little I have seen of the other bodies, it looks like they have similar wounds and the same cause of death. I'll know more when I get them all back to the morgue."

Fusco looked over the scene as the techs hustled about taking photos and bagging evidence. "Let us know what you find CeCe. Looks like it gonna be a long night for everyone."

* * *

Fusco's words were prophetic. It was a very long night. In the early hours of the morning, Joss sent Fusco home to get some rest while she waited for the preliminary coroner's report on Officer Andrada. When it finally landed on her desk, the report was pretty much as expected. Cause of death was exsanguination due to the slashed carotid artery, liver and kidneys were missing, body extensively mutilated after death. The tox screen would take a few days but expected to be negative since she had been on duty and Parker hadn't seen any signs of drug or alcohol use. There was nothing to indicate why Andrada had ignored all her training and experience to drive away with an unknown john.

"Carter?"

Joss looked up from her computer to Mike Laskey standing in front of her. She leaned back in her chair and rubbed her eyes. "What's up Mike?"

"Sorry to bother you..."

"Don't be, I've just been reading the autopsy reports from the bodies we found on Long Island. I need a break. What's up?"

"Mylene Andrada's mom is here to pick up her things and she wants to see you."

Joss blinked in surprise. "Why? I never even met Mylene. Fusco already interviewed her."

Laskey shrugged. "Dunno, but she asked for you by name. She's in the empty office by the locker room."

"Thanks, Mike. I'll go see what she wants." Joss got up from her desk and headed for the room where her victim's mother was waiting.

Joss entered the room to find a petite, middle aged Filipina woman who had an air of quiet dignity about her, even in her obvious grief. There was a box sitting on the table that Joss assumed held the contents of Mylene's locker. Joss held out her hand, "Good morning, Ms. Andrada. I'm Detective Jocelyn Carter. I was told you wished to see me?"

Ms. Andrada took Joss's hand. "Thank you for seeing me. I understand that you are in charge of the investigation?"

Joss nodded as she took the seat across the table from the grieving mother. "I am, along with my partner Lionel Fusco, who you already met."

"I was happy to hear that, Mylene looked up to you. She thought you were the best detective in the department since you arrested all those bad cops. She wanted to be like you."

Joss swallowed the lump in her throat and managed to keep her composure. "Thank you. I don't know what to say…"

Ms. Andrada waved her hand as a tear trickled down her cheek. "Nothing to say. I do have a request. When you catch the killer, please come for coffee and tell me about the investigation."

Joss nodded. "I will."

"Thank you." Ms. Andrada picked up the box and turned to the door.

Joss leaped up. "Let me help you."

Mylene's mother gave Joss watery smile. "If you could get the door. Mylene's partner is waiting to drive me home."

Joss opened the door to see Larry Parker leaning against the wall, looking like he hadn't slept in a year. Joss was pretty sure he hadn't since Mylene disappeared. She gave him a small nod, which he returned. He took the box from Mylene's mother and together they walked down the hall. Joss watched them go as tears pricked at her eyes.

* * *

It was a tired and discouraged Joss who finally made it home late that morning, after being on duty for over 24 hours straight. John and little Cali were waiting for her.

Joss couldn't help but smile as her daughter squealed and ran towards her. Joss scooped her baby girl up and hugged her tight. John wrapped them both in his long arms and hugged them both while Joss buried her face in his chest. Her emotions were a mess and she was sure she was broadcasting them loudly over their bond, but John's rock-steady presence soothed her.

"Finch has been monitoring police communications all night. He hacked the coroner's systems. I already read the autopsy report."

Joss nodded, grateful she didn't have to relive the gory details of the case in order to bring him up to speed.

John gently guided her into the kitchen. "I made French toast. It will be ready in a few minutes if that's alright with you?"

Joss suddenly realized just how hungry she was, she'd only eaten a bag of nuts out of the precint vending machine since lunch the previous day. "Sounds wonderful!" John turned on the stove and waited for the griddle to get hot, while Cali cheerfully recapped the latest episode of _Doc McStuffins_ for her mother. Joss felt the weight lifting from her shoulders. It was impossible for her to feel down around her out-going daughter

The French toast was soon ready and John was gratified to see just how much his mate ate. As soon as she was done eating, John sent her to take a shower.

Joss rested her head against the shower wall as she let the soothing warm water run over her aching body. Some days, she wondered why she kept on fighting, why she got up every morning to deal with the worst humanity had to offer. But she knew why. Each of those women they had dug up last night was once a sweet little toddler who just wanted to eat French toast and kiss their mother. Each one had at some point been someone's baby. They deserved better than to be murdered and dumped in a shallow hole with half their organs missing. She could not sit idly by and let such evil stalk the streets any more than she could stop breathing.

She got out of the shower and found her favorite flannel pajamas already laid out on the bed. Gratefully, she put them on and had just slid into bed when John entered the room.

"Where's Cali?" Joss yawned.

"Watching _Mulan_ for the hundredth time," John replied. "Roll over."

Joss rolled over onto her stomach and John began massaging her shoulders. She hummed with pleasure as his talented hands worked out the tension. "Don't you have a number?" she asked sleepily.

"No. Shaw and Brandon called a little while ago. They wrapped up the latest case and we probably won't get another number until tomorrow. I plan on spending my day taking care of my two girls."

"Thank you," she said. That meant she could sleep for several hours without having to worry about her daughter.

John kissed her temple. "You've done this for me many times."

But she didn't hear him; she was already asleep. John tenderly kissed her cheek and went to watch _Mulan_ , again

* * *

 **Thought you could use a happy domestic scene after that grim chapter.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

After processing all the gravesites and reading the autopsy reports, it was increasingly obvious that there was simply no evidence in the murder of Officer Andrada and the other women. Joss and Fusco were not surprised by this, anyone who was clever enough to avoid the Machine's detection was clever enough to avoid leaving clues sitting around. A few hairs found on the bodies indicated the killer had blonde hair, but there were no DNA hits on the database. A partial print was lifted from a button on one of the victim's clothing, but there were no matches in CODIS**. No witnesses came forward, probably because there were none. Finch scoured the areas were the prostitutes were last seen looking for surveillance footage, but there were no pictures of the killer, only pictures of cars with tinted windows. The investigation was at an impasse.

"I'm going to have to go out on the street," Joss told her partner over lunch.

"You mean be a decoy and hope the killer comes after you?"

"Exactly."

Fusco choked on his Reuben. "Does Tall, Dark and Brooding know?"

"No," she replied. "And you're not going to tell him."

"Oh, HELLLLLLLL no," Fusco shot back. "I am not keeping this from the Grim Alpha Reaper. I'd like to keep my testicles attached, thank you very much."

Joss sighed. "You're going to make me tell him, aren't you?"

"Joss, you know as well as I do you shouldn't keep this from him. I know he's going to flip his lid…"

"Are you kidding? He's going to lock me in the closet!" Joss exclaimed.

"Maybe Cali will let you out?" Fusco snorted.

"She can't reach the door knob yet," Joss said glumly.

* * *

"Are you sure this is prudent?" Finch asked when Joss informed the team of her plan.

"No, it's not prudent, but we don't have much choice, Finch," Joss replied evenly. Out of the corner of her eye, she was watching her mate as he sat stoically next to her. So far he hadn't even twitched, he sat there stone-faced, masking his emotions. She couldn't even feel him through their mating bond. His complete silence was unnerving.

"It's barmy!" Brandon snapped.

"Sez the guy who took on an entire terrorist cell by himself last week," Shaw snorted. "I think it's ballsy,"

Brandon rolled his eyes. "There were only four of them and you would have done the same thing."

"Naw, I would have used fewer bullets," Shaw replied. "Anything more than four is a waste."

Brandon sputtered. "I only used five!"

"That's more than four…"

"That's enough," John's quiet voice cut through the conversation like a knife and the squabbling pack mates immediately fell silent. Not even Shaw was willing to push her luck with the Alpha right now.

John stood up. "I would like to talk to my mate, alone." Then he turned and walked out of the room and down the hall.

Joss got up to follow him, getting sympathetic looks from other team members. She gave them a reassuring smile and followed her mate out of the room.

John led her down the hallway to the point the furthest point away from the room where the rest of the team waited. Finally, he turned to her and she was surprised to see not anger in his eyes, but tears. He wrapped his long arms around her in a tight hug and just held her for several minutes. His iron control finally slipped allowing her feel him through their bond. He was a mess of fear, worry and pride all jumbled together. She hugged him back every bit as tightly.

"John…" she breathed.

"You don't have to do this," he murmured.

"It's my job," she replied softly. "I've been in danger before."

John shook his head. "There's something different about this case. He's already killed one cop, and at least five other women."

"I'll be watching for him, and Fusco will have my back."

John took a step back and studied his mate. Joss lifted her chin in defiance and stared back at him. This was the woman he loved, the passionate and determined defender. The one who had been working her whole life to prevent bad things from happening to good people. As much as he wanted to lock her away where she would be safe, he knew this is what he had signed up for when he had mated with her. He had to accept that danger followed her just as surely as it followed him.

"Promise you'll come home to me?" he asked.

Joss smiled and stroked his cheek. "Promise."

"You're my anchor…" John didn't finish the thought. He didn't have to, Joss knew what he meant.

Joss kissed him gently and then led him back to the room where the rest of the team waited.

"Come on Lionel, we have work to do before tonight," Joss said to her partner. Lionel blinked in surprise, obviously he had expected John to lay down the law to Joss. But he got up and followed her out without a word.

As soon as they left Shaw turned to John. "I can't believe you're going to let her play shark bait."

"I don't LET her do anything," John shot back. "She's a cop; it's who she is." He paused. "It's why I chose _her_."

"But we'll be there to back her up," Shaw stated flatly.

"Yup."

Brandon chuckled. "Looks like I'll watching the number alone tonight."

* * *

Joss leaned against the light post trying her best to look bored while all her senses were actually on high alert. Traffic was light, it was getting late and most of the working girls on the block had stayed home tonight after news of the bodies had broken.

The press had dubbed the new serial killer the Bronx Ripper and described - in graphic detail – how the victims were murdered and how their bodies had been mutilated. This resulted in the ladies of the evening were lying low that night. Joss was somewhat grateful for that, hopefully that mean there would be no more victims, but being all alone for the most of the night when there was a vicious serial killer prowling the streets was a bit unnerving.

"How ya doing partner?" Lionel's comforting voice came over her earpiece.

"I'm cold and my feet hurt," she grumbled.

"This was your idea," Fusco sounded amused.

"I'm not doing this for the comfort," Joss huffed.

Fusco chuckled. "You about ready to pack it in for the night? I'll buy you a hot cup of coffee."

"John ordered you to take care of me, didn't he?" Joss chuckled.

She could hear the smile in Fusco's voice. "It was more of a threat than an order, but I'm used to it by now." Then he got serious. "He doesn't have to do that; I'd watch out for you anyway, partner."

Joss grinned. "I don't doubt it. Have I told you lately you're the best partner I ever had?"

"Of course I am, you used to be paired with Tierney!"

Joss laughed out loud. "OK, let's pack it in for the night. I'll meet you at the little diner around the corner for that coffee."

"On my way."

Joss started down the street, wincing as the absurdly gaudy high heels she was wearing pinched her toes. She wished she had asked Fusco to swing by and pick her up rather than having to walk.

"Detective, behind you!" Finch's voice came through her earpiece.

Joss glanced back over her shoulder to see a car with heavily tinted windows slowly driving down the street behind her. She sucked in her breath and decided she would chide Finch for hacking into her earpiece some other time. "Fusco, he's here!" Joss hissed.

"Don't approach the car! I'm out of position!" Fusco shot back. "I'm coming, stay away from him until I get there!"

Joss continued to walk down the street, pretending like she had no idea a blood-thirsty murderer had her in his crosshairs. She reached out with her Wolf sense to see if her pursuer was Wolf or some other supernatural creature. The pure evil she felt from her pursuer nearly drove her to her knees.

Joss had felt evil before. She had dealt with Hell Hounds, witches, the Headless Horseman and even a Mayan demon, but none of them had felt so _malevolent_. The Hell Hounds had been soulless but mindless, while the witches, the Headless Horseman and the Mayan demon had all retained some semblance of their humanity. But the creature currently following her was not mindless, nor did it have any trace of humanity. It was cold, calculating, and positively monstrous. Its bloodlust left Joss feeling nauseous even as her Wolf sense involuntarily recoiled from it.

Her heart pounded in her chest and she tried to move faster. She was suddenly aware just how alone she was. The only sound she could hear was her heels clicking on the concrete as she hurried down the street. Her mouth went dry, and she fought the strong urge to panic. Desperately, she searched for some way to get off the street and out of harm's way, but everything was locked up tight that time of night.

"Hey!" Joss glanced over her shoulder to see the man get out of his car and start to follow her. Joss silently cursed the heels that prevented her moving faster. Then she felt it; _John was nearby_. If she could just reach him… She glanced over her shoulder and saw the creature was slowly gaining on her.

She turned down a side street and run into a solid mass of muscle. Strong arms enfolded her and suddenly she felt safe. She looked up into the blue eyes of her mate. She sighed and rested her forehead on his chest.

"I'll get this creep for you, Joss," Shaw snarled as she flashed past them.

"No Sam, wait," Joss called. She tried to reach out and grab the operative's arm, but Shaw was moving too fast and paid no heed to Joss's call.

"John, go after her, that thing is pure evil," Joss gasped as she fumbled for the words to convey just how much danger Shaw was in. "She doesn't know…"

Joss was cut off as a shrill scream echoed through the streets followed by several gunshots. John and Joss ran towards the scream to see Fusco frantically trying to stop the bleeding from a wicked looking gash in Shaw's neck. Shaw was crumpled against the building, her eyes open wide and unseeing.

"We need to get her to the hospital NOW," Fusco yelled as blood seeped between his fingers. John scooped her up while Fusco maintained pressure on the wound. They slid in the back seat of Fusco's car while Joss took the wheel, hit the lights and siren and punched the accelerator. "Finch patch me through to the Clinic!" Joss asked as she navigated a corner. "They're the closest Emergency room."

"Emergency Room. Nurse Braco speaking."

"This Detective Joss Carter of the NYPD. I'm transporting a woman whose throat has been slashed. It's bad. We'll be there in about two minutes," Joss shouted as she flew through a red light.

"We'll be ready," the nurse responded in the clipped tone of the professional.

A couple of minutes later Joss squealed to stop in front of the Wolf Clinic. Dr. Mike Cho and two nurses were already waiting for them out front with a gurney. As soon as John was out of the car, Shaw was laid on the gurney and rushed inside, leaving three shocked Wolves covered in blood standing in the Emergency parking area.

They stood there in a state of shocked disbelief for several minutes while they came down off their adrenaline high. Joss shivered in the cold and John took off his suit coat to drape it around her shoulders. Joss gave him a grateful smile.

"We should probably go inside," John commented.

Joss held up the keys that were still in her hand. "You go ahead, I'll park the car and join you in a minute."

It only took Joss a few minutes to move the car into the normal patient parking at the side of the building and join her mate and her partner inside. Joss found them sitting in the all too familiar waiting room, slumped in exhaustion. Her mouth was still dry from running from that creature, so she got a cup of water for the water fountain. "Any news?" She asked as took the seat next to John and reached for his hand.

John took her hand, kissed her knuckles, and then rested his forehead against the back of her hand. "Mike's taken her into surgery. He's asked the nurse to call in a throat specialist as well. We won't know anything for a few hours."

Joss dropped her head on John's shoulder. "She'll be alright. She's the toughest person I know."

John only nodded. Then he glanced over at Fusco. "Did you see what happened?"

Fusco shook his head. "When I came around the corner, whatever that was already had her pinned against the wall and was slicing her throat. Alpha, I swear I emptied my gun into him and he acted like it was nothing. He just ran off."

"What the hell was that thing, Joss?" Fusco asked. "What can get the drop on Shaw like that? What can take that many shots and live?"

"Pure evil," Joss replied. The men both stared at her; she now had their full attention. She took a deep breath wishing she had Finch's eloquence because she wasn't sure how she could describe the magnitude of evil she had felt. She stared down into the plastic cup of water, swirling it while she gathered her thoughts.

"There was nothing there but evil. Even Yatzil and the Headless Horseman still had part of their humanity left. I couldn't feel any with that … that _thing_ , just darkness, hate, blood lust. It may look human but there's _nothing_ human about it."

The men's attention was riveted to her as she spoke. "You were afraid," John stated in a matter-of-fact tone of voice. "I'd never felt that from you before. No matter how bad things got, you've never been afraid"

Joss nodded. "When you touch something so insanely vile, it triggers the flight response for sure. I haven't been that scared since the base in Iraq was shelled for seven hours straight. Somehow, I knew I couldn't take him on."

"Too bad the Tiny Terror doesn't have your good sense," Fusco growled but he looked tired and haggard. Joss knew exactly how he felt.

Shortly after, Finch arrived with Grace and Chris in tow, all of them looking horrified. All the team could do at that point was wait for word from the operating room.

* * *

 **You knew I was going to have put Joss in harms's way. But I figured since I put Carter, Reese and Fusco in the hospital in my last fic, it was Shaw's turn to take a hit for the team.**

 **I know other authors have had John flip out when Joss had to go undercover in dangerous situations, but I wanted to change things up. Even when she was investigating HR he pretty much respected her wishes and stayed hands off. One ting I've always appreciated about his character is how he respects the skills of the women he works with. I feel he would be upset by her choice to place herself in danger, but he would accept it. And of course he would be right there to back her up!**

 ****CODIS: Combined DNA Index System, is the FBI's software that is used for matching DNA profiles in DNA databases.**

.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

It was well after sunrise when Dr. Mike Cho finally trudged from the operating room. For once the doctor that Fusco referred to as "relentlessly cheerful" was sober. The team gathered around him, holding their collective breath. "She's going to be fine. The knife only nicked the artery, and you got her here fast enough. It could have been much, much worse."

The Team breathed a sigh of relief.

"But who's going to tell her she can't eat solid food for three weeks and no talking?" Mike grinned a wicked grin.

"Crap," Fusco snapped. "She's gonna DIE!"

* * *

A tired and demoralized team, minus one member, gathered at the library several hours later. Even Bear looked listless. When he saw John he whined a tiny whine and hurried over to place his head in John's lap. He needed some reassurance from his Alpha. Joss knew how he felt, she wished she could lay her head in John's lap too.

Joss stared down into her coffee cup as her stomach rebelled. She and Fusco had just dropped his car off with the auto detailer who did all the work for the NYPD and it had been the first chance Joss had had to see the car in the daylight. Even though she was a highly experienced homicide detective who had seen numerous gory death scenes, she felt absolutely sick at the sheer volume of blood her friend had lost. Who knew tiny little Sameen had that much in her?

The auto detailer had blanched at the amount of blood that covered the back seat. "I'm probably going to have to replace the entire back seat, I don't think I'll be able to get all the blood out."

"Do what you have to," Fusco had replied wearily. Even he didn't have a quip after that awful night.

Joss pushed her coffee aside, and within seconds a new cup smelling of mint appeared in front of her. Joss looked up at Grace with a question in her eyes. Grace gave her a gentle smile. "Mint tea," she explained. "It soothes the stomach and the nerves. You looked like you could use it."

Joss nodded and sipped it gratefully.

"Last night _was_ hard on us all, but there is an upside," Finch said. "The killer made a crucial mistake by getting out of the car in his attempt to capture Detective Carter. The pawn shop on that block has a full complement of security cameras, we now have a picture of him." The team gathered around Finch's chair and watched as Joss hurried through the frame of the grainy security footage, followed by a man of average height with blonde hair. Finch froze the frame and with a few mouse clicks was able to zoom in on the man's face. A couple more clicks sharpened the focus until his features were clear.

Brandon sucked in his breath, his eyes wide.

John looked at him sharply. "You know this person?"

Brandon nodded. "I've tangled with him before. He has gone by many names over the centuries, but the name he's best known for is Jack the Ripper."

The team gave a collective gasp, staring at him with horrified expressions. Except for John, who was supernaturally calm. "He's not human?"

Chris shook his head. "Not anymore. He was at one time, but he's been possessed by a demon. From what I've been able to gather, he was a summoning gone wrong."

"Was he the summoner?"

"One of them. I believe it was a coven of witches and warlocks who did the summoning. He's the only survivor, if you can call it that. The others met rather gruesome deaths. Like many demons, this one feeds off human organs."

"That explains the missing organs from the victims we dug up last week. You said you tangled with him before?" Joss asked. "What happened?"

"I've met up with him twice. The first time was in a small Wolf village in the Swiss Alps. He was systematically murdering cubs and mutilating their bodies. He'd killed three beautiful little children and one She Wolf before I got there." Chris paused and his eyes were far away as he remembered.

"I must say I was surprised by how nondescript he looked, but that's part of how he's able to move around in relative anonymity."

"You were expecting him to wear a T-shirt that said 'Hello My Name is Jack the Ripper?'" Fusco grumbled.

Brandon could not help a small smile. "It would have been most helpful." Then the smile vanished. "Once I caught up to him we fought it out with swords. I assume you know that beheading a demon is a good way to do away with them?"

Everyone nodded. "Unless it's the Headless Horseman. You get him with sunlight or gunshots, the larger caliber the better," Fusco commented.

Brandon stared at him for a few seconds, then spoke. "I thought he was a legend?"

"Nope," Fusco assured him. "He's real and he's a dick."

Brandon blinked in surprise. "Oh."

"What happened when you fought with Jack the Ripper?" Joss asked to bring them back on topic

"Jack and I battled for quite a while. He's strong, but he's not an experienced fighter. Finally, I was able to slice his head off. I watched in great satisfaction as it went rolling across the room and his body collapsed to the ground."

"You cut his head off, but he didn't stay dead?" Fusco was incredulous.

Brandon signed deeply. "No, he didn't. Imagine my surprise when the head suddenly started rolling back across the room and reattached itself to the body."

Fusco's mouth dropped open. "No kiddin'? How the hell do you kill something like that?"

Brandon shrugged. "I have yet to figure it out; I was lucky to escape with my life. The Ripper fled as well, it's bad for his business when people know who he is."

"How did you know he was Jack the Ripper?" Joss asked.

Brandon sighed. "I didn't at the time. I wasn't until I met him again - in England this time - that I found out who he was. I heard about a series of murders in London that fit his M.O., so I went after him. I was determined that this time he would not escape."

 **-15 years ago**

Brandon stalked the streets of Whitechapel, London, his eyes constantly moving, looking for any sign of the murderer who had escaped him in Switzerland years ago.

His sensitive Wolf ears heard a sound and he turned down a narrow alley towards it. He was in an older part of the Whitechapel, one that had not changed much in over a century. It was a haphazard maze of narrow streets and even narrower alleys. It was dirty and stank of urine.

He stood in the middle of the claustrophobic space looking around, all his senses on high alert. He heard another sound, but he was unable to identify the source, despite his Wolf hearing. "Show yourself!" he barked impatiently.

A soft glow filled the alley as the ghost of a woman in Victorian dress slid smoothly out the brick wall. "Evening guv'nor!" she greeted him cheerfully in a working-class accent so rough it nearly made his ears bleed. "I 'ear you're looking for ol' Jack."

Brandon raised an eyebrow. "Good evening madam. May I ask who ol' Jack is?"

The ghost laughed, revealing a few missing teeth. "Why, Jack the Ripper of course! 'Oo else would I mean?"

"I do seek a murderer, but surely Jack the Ripper is long dead?" Brandon replied.

"Naw, ol' Jack never dies, I should know 'im, he kilt me, not too far from 'ere," the woman replied.

Brandon blinked in surprise. "And you are..?"

"Well 'ere I go and forget me manners. Anne Chapman at your service." The ghost gave him a mocking little cutesy.

Brandon gasped, He recognized the name as one of Jack the Ripper's victims, and he was in Whitechapel, Jack the Ripper's hunting grounds. Could it be that Jack the Ripper was still alive? If he was it meant he wasn't human, and that would explain a lot about how Jack was able to avoid detection all those years ago. "What can you tell me about Jack then? How old is he? Is he a demon?"

The ghost grinned. "Ol' Jack is 'undreds of years old. 'e was summoned by some fools 'oo couldn't control 'im. 'E possessed one an' ate the rest. Developed a taste for organs, 'e did."

"How do you know all this? It was well before your time!"

"Oh, I've 'ad plenty of time to learn things, guv'nor. Jack's kilt plenty, I've lots of company to pass the time with."

"If you know so much, how do I kill him?" Brandon demanded.

The ghost shrugged. "No one knows. If we knew, 'e'd be dead by now."

Brandon sighed, that answer was not particularly helpful, but he had a feeling that was all he was going to get. "Can you at least tell me where is he now?"

The ghost turned and glided off down the alley. Brandon ran after her. She led him through twists and turns in the oldest part of Whitechapel until they came upon a horrific scene. The man Brandon now knew as Jack the Ripper had already killed a prostitute and had her cut wide open as he removed her liver. Brandon drew his gun and fired, emptying the clip in the figure as it ran away.

Behind him, Brandon heard Anne Chapman's mocking laugh. "You're going to 'ave to do better than that to kill Ol' Jack!" Then she slid through the nearest wall leaving Brandon alone in the dark feeling like a failure.

 **-Present Day**

"Did you ever figure out how to kill him?" Joss asked as Brandon finished his story.

Brandon shook his head. "After my encounter with the ghost of Anne Chapman, Jack vanished again."

"So now what?" Fusco asked looking at John. "We can use pictures from the security camera and put an APB out on the guy."

John shook his head. "Given what he did to Shaw, I don't want to put anyone else in danger. A regular beat cop would have no chance against him. We need to handle this ourselves.

"Finch, I need you find to where Jack has been living. He has a human body; he'll need to eat and sleep somewhere. He won't know that we know who and what he is. The rest of us will have to work on a way to kill him once we do find him."

* * *

The Wolf constitution is a very hardy one and Shaw recovered very quickly despite her horrific injury. Dr. Mike called Joss a couple of days later to let her know Shaw was able to receive visitors. Joss hurried to the clinic and entered Shaw's room to find another visitor already there.

"Mom? What are you doing here?" Joss blinked in surprise. She knew Alice liked Shaw; Alice loved to cook and Shaw loved to eat, so it was inevitable they would buddy up. But she had no idea they were visiting-in-the-hospital friends.

Alice gave her daughter a smug smile. "You told me poor Sam couldn't eat solids and she didn't strike me as the fruit smoothie type. So I got to thinking what I could do about it."

Joss snuck a look into Sam's cup to see a dark brown, thick liquid. The smell was familiar. "Mom did you make a meatloaf smoothie?"

"Yup, mashed potatoes, gravy, lots of gravy, and my meatloaf in a blender."

Sam grinned and gave Joss a salute with her cup.

Alice got up and picked up the small cooler that had been resting at her feet. "I'll be back tomorrow, how does steak with peppercorn sauce sound?"

Shaw gave her a double thumbs up and huge grin. Joss had to repress her laughter. Alice gave her daughter a pat on the cheek, and she left. "Don't forget, I get my grandbaby tomorrow!"

"Don't worry Ma, Cali won't let me forget!" Joss smiled at her loving mother.

As Alice exited the room, Joss handed Shaw a pad of paper and a pen. "We need to talk," Joss said briskly. "What happened?"

Shaw scribbled on the paper for a few minutes then passed the paper over to Joss.

 _I don't know. I came around the corner and as soon as I looked at the guy is was like I wasn't in control anymore. I dropped my gun and walked towards him. In my head I was screaming at myself to stop but I couldn't. He took out a knife and slashed at my throat and I couldn't do anything but stand there and let him. He must have put some sort of whammy on me. I really thought I was a goner but Fusco showed up and emptied his clip into the guy and he finally let me go. That man should be dead, I saw every shot Fusco fired hit him, but he ran to his car and drove off. How the hell could he even move after getting hit so many times? I knew I was bleeding but I couldn't even lift my arms to stop the blood. That's when you showed up._

"He hypnotized you?" Joss gasped.

Shaw shrugged and again wrote on the pad.

 _I don't know what to call it. I've been trained to resist hypnosis and other mind control techniques, and putting someone under takes several minutes. This was instantaneous, I never had a chance to resist. What can do that?_

Joss looked up from reading Shaw's note to see the diminutive operative looking at her, hoping for answers. Joss had none.

* * *

Joss sat patiently in the Lyric, waiting for her mate to join her for lunch. She didn't even have to look up from her coffee to know he had entered the building, she felt the atmosphere change in the restaurant as soon as he stepped inside. She looked up and watched him stride across the diner towards her and she couldn't help but smile. Almost every woman and half the men in the place were watching him as he moved with his usual confidence and grace. The best part was that it came so naturally to him. He was completely unaware of the effect he had on other patrons.

John took the seat across from her and gave her his usual smirk in greeting. Joss gave him a smile in return but before she could say anything, the ever efficient waitress Verna was at the table with a cup of coffee for John. "Usual, hon?" she asked. John gave her small nod and she scurried off to fetch his usual order of a burger, pink in the middle, with steak fries.

"I think she has a crush on you," Joss teased him.

"Funny, I thought it was you she had the crush on," John shot back.

Joss giggled and then turned sober. "I just saw Shaw."

John sipped his coffee. "What did she tell you?" He didn't need the mating bond to tell him Joss had been disturbed by her visit with his partner in chaos.

"She said she didn't fight back because that thing hypnotized her somehow."

John set his coffee cup down, his face grim. "That's impossible. It takes time to hypnotize someone and Shaw's not exactly an ideal subject."

Joss pulled the piece of paper where Shaw had written her account of the attack out of her pocket and handed it over to her mate. John read it over as his lips disappeared into thin line, a sign that Joss knew he meant business. "It must be practicing some sort of mind control."

Joss frowned. "But why didn't it control Chris when he fought it?"

"Chris ambushed it; it probably just didn't have the chance to establish control before it had to defend itself. It saw Shaw coming from half a block away on an empty street.

"We're going to have to be very careful with this one, no one should approach it alone. If you find it, wait for the rest of the team."

Joss glared at her mate. "Same goes for you."

John rolled his eyes. "Don't worry, Brandon is following your instructions to stay with me religiously."

Joss smirked at her mate over her coffee cup. "Good, because Fusco is following your instructions to stay with me religiously as well."

Joss saluted her mate with her coffee mug. "To good friends and obedient packmates!"

* * *

 **No, I couldn't kill Shaw, John needs his sidekick!**

 **So now we know who the killer is. I had taken the descriptions of the cause of death and the mutilated bodies in Chapter 3 from the inquest** **for one of Jack the Ripper's victims. If you're interested in learning more, I did most of my research on the website www dot jack-the-ripper dot org. (I really hate that FF won't let us link directly.)**


	7. Chapter 7

**How do you kill a seemingly indestructible demon? Finch and Taylor are on the case...**

* * *

 **Chapter 7**

Finch slammed his book down on the desk in frustration. Taylor looked up from his homework with a questioning look.

"Sorry, Taylor," Finch apologized. "I'm just frustrated. I've looked through every book I have on the occult and supernatural, and I can't find anything on Jack the Ripper or how to kill him." He sighed and looked at the small stack of books in front of him. "Not that we have that many books on the topic anyway. I've been buying up all the books on the supernatural I can ever since I started working with Mr. Reese, but that kind of book doesn't come on the market very often.

"I'm having the same problem looking for information on the internet. So much of the supernatural is oral history, passed down from generation to generation, and never written down."

Taylor leaned back in his chair, his homework forgotten. "John did tell me once that Wolves prefer to pass to information down orally, like it's been done for many centuries. Wolves often had to pack up and run at a moment's notice, and books are heavy." He paused in thought. "Maybe some of the younger Wolves and I should start a project to put Wolf lore on the internet. A Wolf Wiki…"

Finch smiled at him. "That sounds like a worthy project, one I will be more than happy to help you with. But it doesn't help us with Jack the Ripper right now." Finch stared at the pile of books in front of him, looking distressed. "I can't send my friends out there against such a powerful adversary unprepared. They depend on me to find solutions, and I have none."

Taylor thought for a few minutes. "I think I know someone who might be able to help."

"Really? Who?"

"There's a professor at the college; he teaches in the Theology department. He's a Catholic priest, and has a PhD in Biblical Archeology, but rumor on campus is that he was an exorcist. I was going to take a class from him next semester."

"When can we talk to him?"

Taylor pulled his tablet out of his backpack and logged onto the college website. "He has office hours later today."

* * *

The man who opened the door to Taylor's knock looked like everyone's favorite Grandpa. White hair, apple cheeks, and twinkling blue eyes regarded the teen and the billionaire standing in the hallway. However, Finch noticed those blue eyes held a shrewdness that belied his grandfatherly looks.

"Well now," Father Patrick Corry said in a soft Irish brogue, "what brings such a well-dressed man and a young Wolf to my door?"

Internally, Finch rolled his eyes. Was it some sort of law that every priest in New York had to be Irish? "Jack the Ripper," he replied, his eyes locked onto the priest's.

Father Corry stepped back briskly giving them room to enter. "Come in."

Finch and Taylor walked into the office and took the chairs in front of the well-worn oak desk that dominated the small room. The professor shut and locked the door, then took his chair across from the odd couple that had come to visit him.

"You may speak freely, this office is heavily warded against eavesdroppers, both technological and supernatural," he said as he settled into his chair.

"How did you know I was Wolf? You don't feel like you're Wolf to me, something else… " Taylor asked, his face a mask of concentration as he exercised his Wolf sense. The priest, the consummate teacher, waited patiently for the young man to work it out for himself. "…Warlock maybe?"

The blue eyes smiled at him from across the desk. "You're a smart one," the old man replied with a voice of approval. "Yes, I'm a warlock, wizard, shaman, however you want to say it."

"Isn't that incompatible with being a priest?" Finch asked curiously.

Corry touched the clerical collar around his neck and grinned. "Not as incompatible as some would have you believe. I was a right corker of an exorcist thanks to my, er, talents. Now, tell me about Jack the Ripper."

"What do you know already?" Finch asked.

The old priest shrugged. "Just the usual narrative. Jack the Ripper was a name given to a serial killer who operated in the Whitechapel district of London in 1888. He preyed on prostitutes, mutilating them horribly. The London papers had a field day whipping up fear and panic. He was never caught." The man paused and cocked his head to one side. "I have always suspected that there was more to the story, that the supernatural was involved somehow."

"I have been told by a reliable source that Jack the Ripper is alive and well in New York," Finch began.

"The ladies of the evening and the police officer who were dung up on Long Island," Father Corry said flatly.

Finch nodded. "I can't tell you too much, but we're helping the detectives on the case."

"Using civilians, now that's a rather unusual investigative technique, isn't?" Corry seemed amused.

"It's an usual kind of case," Finch replied smoothly.

"That it is," Corry agreed. "And Detectives Carter and Fusco are unusual sort of detectives. Wolves from what I understand."

Finch and Taylor gaped at the man across the desk from them. Father Corry simply shrugged. "I'm an Irishman living in New York City, of course I know people in the police department. I like to keep abreast of unusual cases that may have supernatural aspects to them, and this one pinged my radar as soon as I read about the mass grave site in the papers." He looked at Taylor. "I'm a big fan of your mother's, her take down of HR was brilliantly planned and executed."

Taylor gave the man a sheepish grin. "Busted."

"It's OK, my son," the old priest said kindly. "I understand your need for discretion. Far too many people are afraid of the supernatural and use that fear as a weapon to justify atrocities.

"Now tell me, why do you think it's THE Jack the Ripper and not some copycat killer?"

"We've spoken to a Wolf Warrior who has tangled with him before," Taylor explained. "Jack the Ripper is a human who has been possessed by a demon."

"You're an exorcist, can you…you know…?" Finch asked.

The old priest sadly shook his head. "If your source is correct and this is the real Jack the Ripper, he has been in procession of the body for far too long, well over a century at least, probably longer. There would be nothing left of the original person."

"Oh," Finch sighed. "Do you know how to stop him?"

The priest leaned back in his chair looking thoughtful as he rubbed his chin with his thumb. "There are numerous ways to kill a demon, but one who has walked among us for this long will be difficult to kill."

"The Wolf Warrior we told you about cut his head off with a sword but it re-attached itself."

Father Corry nodded. "He does have a human body; he is vulnerable to damage just like you or I. But, despite his human appearance, he is still a demon. From what you have told me, he has demonic powers capable of repairing his body.

"He is very powerful after being here for so long, a clean cut would not be enough, even if it did remove his head. But even demonic power has its limits. My guess is that he would have to be severely damaged, such as being chopped into many pieces, or multiple simultaneous hits in vital organs. His body would have to be so badly damaged that his powers could not repair it."

Finch looked sick.

Corry noticed. "I'm sorry, this will have to be a very messy kill. It's the only way."

"Don't you have a sacred knife, sword, something that can kill a demon?" Finch asked weakly.

Corry made a show of patting his pockets. "Sorry, fresh out." Then he turned serious. "I know this is going be difficult for you. You have chosen a harsh and unforgiving path. There are no shortcuts."

Taylor leaned forward. "A friend of ours, a person skilled in hand to hand combat, tried to fight him, but he disarmed her in seconds and slashed her throat. She's going to be OK," Taylor added quickly at the priest's shocked look. "But she mentioned that when she looked at him she couldn't move, she wasn't in control of her own body. Do you have any idea how he did that?"

Corry looked disturbed. "That will make your job much more difficult I'm afraid. Some demons do have the power of mind control. If you get too close, look them in eyes, they have you. I suspect this what happened to your friend." Corry paused and drew a shaky breath. "I lost a good friend that way once. We were trying to save a young boy who had been possessed by a very ancient and vicious demon. Father del Torro, a good, good man, made a mistake and looked the demon directly in the eyes. Next thing I knew, he was plunging a dagger into his own chest. He bled out in seconds while the demon laughed and lapped up as much blood as he could reach."

Taylor eyes went wide. "Did you manage to stop the demon?"

Father Corry sadly nodded his head. "Yes, but it cost us dearly." He paused searching for the right words. "Sometimes, when fighting demons, losses are inevitable."

They went quiet for few minutes while they all thought about the possible costs of stopping Jack the Ripper. Then Finch spoke. "Can you think of anything else you know that could help us?"

Corry swiveled in his chair and pulled a couple of well-worn, leather bound books from the bookshelf behind him. "These books were my favorite references when I was an exorcist, they saved my life a few times." He handed them to Taylor. "I'm too old for demon hunting now, but I think you will be able to put them to good use."

Taylor looked at the books in his hand. They were obviously old and well-used, with cracked leather covers. Seeing Finch looking at the books with great interest he handed them over to the older man. Finch took the books carefully and reverently ran his hands over the worn covers. "Thank you, Father. I'll bring them back when this is all over," Taylor said.

"Not necessary, my son. They're yours now. Just make sure some deserving soul gets them when your demon hunting days are done."

Finch stood up. "Thank you Father. You've been a great help."

"Go in peace my children. Bless you and everyone on your team for taking on such harsh and difficult tasks." Corry moved his hand in the sign of the cross. "May God be with you."

* * *

As soon as Taylor and Finch got back to the library, Finch recalled all the team members to discuss their meeting with the exorcist.

"So we need to basically blast the guy to smithereens?" Fusco asked, after Finch and Taylor finished telling them about their conversation with the old priest.

"Yup," Taylor replied. "Or cut him up into little bits. He has to be so messed up he can't pull himself back together." Finch looked disturbed, but didn't say anything.

"It's going to have to be a lightning raid with all of us," John said grimly.

"It will also be quite noisy, we won't have much time before the police are called," Brandon mused.

"And we will have to do it in a place where no civilians can get hurt," Joss added.

"Fortunately, I think I have found the right location," Finch replied. "Using facial recognition software, I've finally been able match the face from the security camera footage to a picture in the DMV records. Our man is Ellison Stride." With a click of a mouse, the driver's license picture of average looking man with blonde hair appeared the on the screen.

Joss shuddered and without realizing it, she leaned into John, who slipped an arm around her. "Yup, that's him."

"Ellison Stride," Fusco mused thoughtfully. "Elizabeth Stride was one of Jack the Ripper's victims…"

Everyone looked at the portly detective with surprise. "What?" he snapped. "I've been reading up on him. I'm a detective remember?"

"Very wise of you, Detective Fusco," Finch replied soothingly. Fusco seemed mollified, so Finch continued, "Mr. Stride manages a self-storage facility in an industrial portion of the Bronx. Like many managers of such facilities, he lives on-site in an apartment over the office."

"Perfect home for a serial killer," Fusco growled. "No nosey neighbors to notice when he brings home a body. Bet we find a vic or two in one of the storage units."

Grace and Finch looked horrified at that thought, but the wolves were too busy planning their raid to notice.

Harold grasped Grace's hand while they watched the Wolves as they gathered around the white board. "I wonder if I'll ever get used to all this," Grace sighed quietly.

"It does get easier as time passes," Harold assured her. "But I don't know if one can ever 'get used to it,' as you say. I'm still struggling with it. This is a strange and violent world we have immersed ourselves in."

"Any regrets?" Grace asked.

Harold gave her a sad look. "Just the ones we couldn't save."


	8. Chapter 8

**Time for our team to confront Jack the Ripper**

* * *

 **Chapter 8**

It was a sober group that gathered in an empty parking lot around the corner from the address Finch found for Jack the Ripper. Fusco looked around at John, Joss, Taylor and Brandon as they checked over their weapons one last time. He caught Joss watching her son carefully. Tonight was the first time Taylor would be joining the team in a capacity other than surveillance. Fusco studied the young man as he ejected the magazine to verify it was full and then reinserted it, his motions smooth and methodical. John and Joss had trained him well. Fusco had no reservations that Taylor was ready, but he could see Joss's concern for her son written all over her face.

Fusco sighed. "We sure could use the Special Forces Princess about now."

Brandon looked grim as he slammed the magazine into his gun home. "This is for Sameen."

The group nodded in agreement as they all pulled on their ski masks. "We're ready, Finch," John said.

"We're ready as well, Mr. Reese. Please be careful," Finch replied, as his fingers flew over the keyboard as he took the traffic and security cameras in the area off-line. Grace slipped on the head phones connected to another computer. She would be helping monitor police communications while Finch hacked the traffic cameras and security systems in the area.

John took the wheel of the van as they all piled in. As soon as Brandon slammed the back door shut, John stomped on the accelerator and the van flew around the corner. It squealed to a stop in front of the office door for the storage facility and everyone jumped out. John shot out the lock with one well-placed shot and they barged in. They raced up the stairs and kicked open the door to the small apartment over the office.

Jack the Ripper/Stride was caught completely off guard; he was sitting in an overstuffed armchair, sipping a drink. The first bullets ripped through his body before he had a chance to react. He threw himself off the chair to one side and rolled to his feet, getting hit by several more bullets in the process, but he shrugged them off easily.

Taylor was the closest member of Team Machine and Stride charged him at full speed. Taylor held his ground pumping bullet after bullet into the demon as he charged. The rest of the team was forced to cease fire, afraid they would hit Taylor. They could only watch in horror as Stride crashed directly into him, knocking him to the floor and landing on top of him. The demon held the young Wolf by the neck and stared into his eyes.

"Taylor!" Joss screamed and ran towards her son. John beat her there, yanking Stride off the young Wolf, tossing him several feet in the process. John turned and pumped more bullets into the demon when Joss saw Taylor aim his gun at John's back. "John!" she screamed and lunged forward.

John, with instincts honed after many years on the battlefield and in the CIA, hit the floor immediately. The move saved his life. Two bullets grazed John's shoulder and head as he moved. Taylor, his eyes unfocused and blank just as Shaw's had been, took aim at John again, only to have Brandon smash him across the face with his fist. Brandon raised his hand to hit Taylor again when Joss was finally able to intervene. "STOP!"

Brandon's blow was enough to break whatever hold the demon had on Taylor. "Oh God, John, I'm sorry!" The horrified young Wolf cried.

John rolled over, bleeding profusely from his head wound. "Get Stride! I'm fine!" He commanded.

"No, you don't have time!" Grace sounded urgent. "The police have been called. Harold's sending conflicting information to the 911 system, but the first unit will be there in just a few minutes."

John staggered to his feet. Joss got under one arm while Taylor took the other. "Fusco! Come on we need to get out of here!" Joss yelled.

Fusco appeared from the next room where he had chased their quarry. "Stride's gone. He jumped through a window."

The team hurried to the van as fast as they could move with an injured John. Fusco took the wheel, and they vanished into the night just as the first police unit turned the corner.

Fusco drove carefully so as to not attract any attention since they were passed a couple of times by black and white units heading in the opposite direction with lights flashing and sirens screaming. In the back of the van, Joss carefully tended to her mate's wounds while a morose and remorseful Taylor watched. Joss gently helped John off with his shirt and held it to his head wound.

"Does he need Dr. Mike?" Fusco asked over his shoulder.

"No," Joss said. Taylor let out an audible breath. "They're just grazes. Let's head for the library, maybe Finch knows where Stride ran to."

Fusco pulled up next to the library and the team let themselves into a side door. Finch looked up as they entered and his face went pale when he saw John holding his shirt to his bloody head. Grace fetched the medical supplies and she and Joss busied themselves tending to John's wounds. Taylor sat on the floor across the room, looking thoroughly whipped.

"What happened?" Finch asked.

"I fucked up," Taylor snapped. "Stride took control of me and I nearly killed my dad."

"It wasn't your fault, son," John winced as Joss cleaned his head wound. "Stride's been doing this for centuries and…. wait, did you just call me your _dad_?"

Taylor hung his head. "He knew I was the weakest link."

"I disagree, young Master Carter," Brandon interrupted. "You were merely the closest and most convenient for him. You held your ground admirably when he charged you. I've seen young men panic under similar circumstances. I think you did quite well for your first combat."

"Yeah kid, don't beat yourself up; it could have been any one of us. Stride got the drop on Shaw too, remember?" Fusco clapped his hand on Taylor's shoulder.

Taylor nodded, but he didn't look convinced.

Finch finally turned away from his keyboard. "I've managed to throw the police off your trail. They are looking for a blue van with New Jersey plates instead of a white one with New York plates. I've planted false reports of that non-existent van being spotted heading for New Jersey. At least we won't have to worry about the detectives' colleagues catching up to us."

"That's great, Finch. Can we get back to the part where Taylor called me his dad?" John said as Joss wrapped a bandage around his head.

"I nearly killed you, and that's what you're focusing on?" Taylor asked incredulously.

"You didn't kill me, and you never called me 'Dad' before," John shot back.

"You're not mad?"

"That you called me Dad? No."

"That's not what I meant!"

John smiled a genuine smile. "No, I'm not mad. Brandon's right, you showed some brass holding your ground against a serial killer demon. I'm proud to be your Dad."

Joss looked like she was about to cry.

"Much as I hate to throw cold water on this touching family moment, we still have a serial killer to catch," Fusco snapped.

"Unfortunately, I must agree with Detective Fusco," Finch interjected quickly when he saw the cold look on John's face. "Stride is badly injured. He will need some place to recuperate and he may be in need of organs to help him in his recovery."

Brandon sat down heavily in his chair and ran his hands over his face. "Then what? Shooting him from a distance didn't work. He's too fast for the grenade launcher. We can't use explosives since we won't have time to set them properly."

"Shaw has a flame thrower," John mused with a gleam in his eye.

"We'll think of something," Joss replied. "But first we need to find him."

* * *

The next night. Joss and Fusco stood over the body of Lena "Isis" Jasper in a dirty alley only a few blocks from her apartment. She had been horribly mutilated and CeCe would later confirm that several of her organs were missing.

Even though Joss could not see Fusco's face in the dark cold alley, she heard the small sob that escaped her partner. Joss felt for his hand and gently held it as his shoulders shook.

"I told her to stay off the streets. I told her to stay away from cars with tinted windows. Why didn't she listen?" Fusco whispered.

"She did, sort of," John said as he materialized out of the dark next to them, causing the detectives to jump. Joss made a small annoyed noise in her throat. She had been so focused on Fusco that she hadn't felt his approach through their bond. John gave her a small smirk, knowing he had gotten the drop on his mate again.

"Explain, please," Joss huffed.

"Finch has already found some camera footage," John looked up and Joss followed his gaze to see a security camera focused on the mouth of the alley. "The bodega in this building has the block pretty well covered. The demon approached her on foot, not in a car."

"So, she probably thought she was safe," Fusco sighed heavily.

John nodded but his face was half hidden in shadow. Joss was struck by how much his facial structure worked with the dark to give his face a skull-like appearance. She shivered.

"He's changed his M.O., we must have hurt him bad." Fusco sounded as tired as Joss had ever heard him.

John growled deep in his throat and Joss felt a feeling of foreboding crawl over her. "We'll get him, whatever it takes." Then John turned and strode down the alley.

Joss chased after him. "John, wait."

John paused, then turned, his face an emotionless mask, but Joss felt a grim determination coming from him and it filled her with dread. "What did you mean by 'whatever it takes'?"

"I meant exactly what I said," he replied flatly.

Joss's large soft brown eyes met John's cold blue ones. She reached out and took his hand. "John…"

John brushed her cheek with the fingers of his other hand. Then he leaned down and gently kissed her. "I love you," he whispered. Then he was gone, vanished into the night.

Joss realized she was crying.

* * *

Brandon and Reese were checking a possible sighting of Stride when Brandon noticed something in the trunk of the car they were using. As John removed several fresh magazines from an ammo box, Brandon reached out and touched a familiar object.

"Is this the bomb vest?" He asked.

John didn't even look up. "Yes."

Brandon was confused. "What's it doing here?"

"Insurance."

Brandon raised an eyebrow. "How do you plan on getting Stride to wear it? You can't just walk up to him and say 'Hey, mate, would you mind terribly trying this on?'"

Reese looked at Brandon coldly. "He's not going to be the one wearing it."

"Reese, please tell me you're not planning on doing anything stupid."

Reese slammed the trunk shut. "Define stupid."

"Committing what amounts to a suicide bombing to kill Jack the Ripper."

John walked off without saying anything, but Brandon chased after him. "John, don't do this to Joss."

John stopped dead in his tracks and glared at the old Wolf. "It's a last resort."

"Do you know what it's like for the mate who's left behind? You told me once that you lost someone you weren't even mated to and it nearly destroyed you. Losing your mate is like losing half your damn mind.

"It's been years since Marianne died and I still feel the hole she left in my soul. Every damn morning I wake up and she's still the first thing I think about. I still reach for her at night. I still a see a pretty dress in shop window and think that Marianne would look smashing in it. I still see women who look like her and hurry to catch up them thinking it's her. I see her in every nook and cranny of my mind."

John gave Brandon a stony stare that started to walk away, but Brandon stepped in front of him.

"This mating bond we have with our other halves is a blessing and a curse. While we're alive it's the most wonderful thing in the world to be part of a bonded couple. That intense connection to another person makes you feel so ALIVE. But once one dies, it's almost impossible for the one left behind to recover. I know John; I've been trying for _years._

"Your mate, God bless her, has been trying to fix me, but there is no fixing me because the only person who can fix me is DEAD. All I want to do is join Marianne. Don't put Joss in that position."

John stepped around Brandon, but Brandon again intercepted him.

John growled. "Jack the Ripper has been murdering people for centuries, _he has to be stopped_. Joss knew what she was getting into when she mated with me."

Brandon narrowed his eyes. "Did she really? She wasn't born a Wolf, did she really understand the perils of mating with men like us? Did you really take the time to explain it to her?"

The muscles in John's jaw flexed, but he didn't say anything.

"That's what I thought," Brandon snarled. "For the love of all that is holy, John, find another way."

"What if there is no other way?" John asked quietly, meeting Brandon's eyes squarely.

Brandon shook his head. "There's _always_ another way."

"It's a last resort, but I have to protect people. I want my daughter to grow up in world where Jack the Ripper doesn't exist," John snarled back.

"It's also your life, mate," Brandon snapped back.

"What about the life of Mylene Andrada? What about the life of Lena Jasper? What about the lives of all the women Jack the Ripper has killed over the centuries?"

"You can't bring them back, John!"

John bowed his head. "I know."

"I won't be a party to this. I can't stand by and watch you destroy yourself and your mate." Brandon stormed off.

John stood and watched him go.

Then his earpiece beeped. "I've found him," Finch said.

* * *

 **Only one more chapter to go! Thanks for sticking with me.**


	9. Chapter 9

**This is it, the final chapter for The Dark Wolf. I want to thank all my lovely readers for your support. especially those of you who took the time to leave me a review. Thanks to all the Guest Reviewers who I can't think in a IM. Your comments help keep me motivated to write.**

 **Quick note to opheliablack: Yes, Taylor was turned at the end of "We are Wolf Family."**

* * *

 **Chapter 9**

The team quickly gathered at the library in response to Finch's announcement. Joss stood between Brandon and Reese, having picked up on the tension between the two men. Her head swiveled between them, but they both stared ahead, pretending not notice. Neither one was willing to enlighten her, so she focused on Finch.

"I was able to trace his movements after his latest kill," the computer genius said. "He's clever; he passed through several areas with no cameras in an attempt to throw off anyone who was using the cameras the trace him.

"He appears to be staying here," Finch brought up a map of the Bronx with a red dot flashing not too far from where he had killed Lena Jasper. "It's the former headquarters of Empire State Transportation, a small trucking company that went out of business a couple of years ago when it's owner died of a sudden heart attack. He died without a will and the building and trucks have been sitting unused while his relatives fight over the estate."

"Perfect hideout," Fusco commented. "Those big semis often have living quarters behind the cab with kitchens and beds."

"Yes, detective." Finch replied. "From what I can find, there are at least two of those vehicles still in the building."

"Which probably means volatile materials like gas cans and oil rags are in there was well," John growled.

"So much for the flamethrower," Joss commented. John looked disappointed.

"So, what's the plan?" Fusco growled.

"Bigger guns," John replied.

* * *

The team pulled up outside the fence that surrounded the former headquarters of Empire State Transportation. John produced a pair of bolt cutters from his backpack and sliced through the fencing behind the building. Each member of the team took their turn wriggling through the hole he cut. They crept cautiously across the pavement until they reached the building and crouched down by the back wall while they took stock of their situation.

"Finch, the building behind us has cameras," John whispered.

"Already taken off-line, Mr. Reese," Finch replied. "Your felonious entrance to the property was not recorded."

"Any other cameras in the area we should know about?"

"No, you're in the clear. Empire State's security system stopped working long ago and none of the surrounding businesses can see you."

John's nimble fingers made short work of the lock on the back door and everyone entered the building.

Even though they knew Stride was not currently there, they began a thorough search of the building. They soon wish they hadn't.

While John, Joss, and Brandon took the garage area and Taylor took the office, Fusco took the break room and bathroom. The bathroom was a standard issue office bathroom with very little in the way of area to search, so Fusco turned his attention to the break room. He methodically rifled through the cabinets and drawers, noting the presence of a few small knives and other utensils. He opened the refrigerator and then almost immediately slammed it shut swearing loudly.

Taylor dashed in from the office. "You OK, big guy?"

Fusco exhaled a deep break as he leaned back against the fridge. "Yeah, yeah. Just…don't open the fridge." He swallowed. "I'm pretty sure there are human organs in there."

Taylor shuddered as he remembered who the Ripper's last victim was. "Sorry, man." He placed a comforting hand on the older man's shoulder.

Fusco took another deep breath. "Thanks kid. Let's go find your parents and get this sonofabitch."

They found the other team members in the garage next to one of the big trucks. John was just climbing out of the cab. "He's definitely been sleeping in here, his scent is all over the bed." He saw Taylor and Fusco approaching. "Did you find anything?"

"Fusco found human organs in the fridge," Taylor said softly.

Joss realized who those organs had to belong to. "Oh Lionel, I'm so sorry!" she gasped.

Fusco gave Joss brief tight nod to acknowledge her then looked at John. "What now, Alpha?" he asked briskly.

"It looks like he's been using the office to come and go. We'll set up an ambush there. That way we can avoid the flammable material out here in the garage."

"In that case you need to take your positions, Mr. Reese," Finch's voice cut in. "The traffic cameras show your quarry is only a block away."

The group swiftly moved to the office reception area and concealed themselves behind desks, except for John, who took a position by the window, so he could see Stride coming across the parking lot.

"He's inside the fence," John whispered. "Now he's about halfway across the lot…Wait he's stopped."

Joss closed her eyes and focused on her Wolf sense. She felt Stride's evil reach out and touch her. "He knows we're here!"

What happened next would play a prominent role in everyone's nightmares for years to come.

Stride turned and ran for the fence. John ripped open the door, but Brandon was the first out of the building, shoving John aside and knocking the Alpha off balance. "Treasure your mate, John," he said as he passed by, his eyes locked onto Stride. Horrified, John realized that Brandon had taken his jacket off and he had been wearing the bomb vest the whole time.

Joss also saw the bomb vest as Brandon vanished out the door. Her eyes widened in horror as she realized what he intended to do. "NO!" she screamed, and began to run after him. John regained his feet, tackled her when she was only a few steps out the door, and started dragging her back into the building. She struggled, but John's superior strength was too much for her. "JOHN, NO! We have to stop him!" she sobbed.

"Nothing can stop him now," John said as he continued to drag her back.

They watched in horror as Brandon caught up to the demon as he was trying to wiggle through the hole in the fence and wrapped him in big hug. The vest detonated a half second later before the surprised demon could react,

Joss wailed a cry of pure grief and collapsed to her knees.

John slammed the door to the office shut. "Don't look," he instructed Taylor and Fusco. They nodded, they had no intention of looking.

John knelt and held his mate to his chest. "This is what he wanted. He's with Marianne again," he whispered to her. "You can't save someone who doesn't want to be saved."

Joss could only nod. She understood, she really did.

"Um guys, we should get out of here," Fusco said. "911 is probably getting flooded with calls right now."

He and Taylor lead the way to the back door and the van waiting for them behind the building, while John half carried his sobbing mate.

Back at the library, Finch took off his glasses and buried his face in his hands. Grace wrapped him in her arms to comfort him. "A pyrrhic victory," was all he could mumble against her shoulder as he squeezed her tight and began to cry.

* * *

The reporters had a feeding frenzy with the deaths of Stride and Brandon. Of course at first they didn't know that one of them was the serial killer, but the idea that someone committed murder by suicide bomb vest more than enough to keep them gleefully speculating as to the events that led up the grisly crime.

Then the coroner announced that the one who wasn't wearing the vest was a DNA match to the serial killer. The press could barely contain themselves as they hypothesized that the murder was revenge for the Ripper's crimes. Finch had scrubbed Brandon's DNA from the British military and INTERPOL systems, so he remained unidentified. The commentators filled in the blanks with all sorts of wild guesswork.

John and Taylor learned quickly to keep the news off when Joss was around, since the constant conjecture infuriated her. Brandon died a hero and some of the more lurid theories made her mutter profanities at the TV. Unfortunately, cursing when you have an impressionable toddler in the house has consequences. When Cali accidently knocked over a cup of milk and said "Fuck" in her sweet little girl voice, John was forced to declare a moratorium on the news in the Carter-Reese household.

As tends to happen, the news moved on and forgot all about the mysterious man who blew up the serial killer. A week later, the mayor publicly declared his love for a woman who was not his wife and filed for divorce. If there is one thing New York loves more than a murder mystery, it would be a juicy political scandal. Brandon was promptly forgotten and it was safe to turn on the TV in the Carter-Reese home once again.

Cali forgot about saying "Fuck" and never used the word again until she was fifteen and her daddy caught her sneaking out after curfew, but that's another story.

* * *

One day in late winter, just as the weather was on the verge of changing over to spring, a gentle old priest with a soft Irish brogue and twinkling blue eyes appeared in the morgue with the paperwork to claim the mysterious man's remains. The morgue staff were somewhat shocked, they had expected to bury the man on Hart Island in a pauper's grave with the other unclaimed bodies. They had even begun the paperwork to make it happen.

"Do you know the family?" the clerk asked, as she stamped release forms.

"They're friends of friends," the priest replied. "They wish to remain anonymous though; they don't want the press sniffing around if this gets out. They wish to grieve privately."

The clerk nodded. She had been doing this a long time and had seen many families swarmed by reporters as they tried to grieve their loss. She remained a model of professional detachment and kept her curiosity in check. She neatly stacked the forms, clipped them, and slid them into an envelope which she handed over to the priest. "There you go Father, the mortuary can pick him up anytime."

"Bless you my child, you've been such a big help," the priest said kindly. The clerk glowed with pride.

The priest left the morgue, walking down the street at a brisk pace that belied his age. He turned the corner and then climbed into the backseat of a large, black Lincoln that was waiting for him at the curb. He nodded to Taylor Carter sitting in the seat next to him as Grace and Harold turned around from the front seat.

Father Corry handed the envelope over to the Finch. "It's all set."

"Any trouble?" Finch asked.

Father Corry chuckled and touched his clerical collar. "Nope, this tends grease the skids as they say. No trouble at all."

"Thank you for your help Father, can we buy you a cup of coffee for your trouble?"

"That would be lovely, along with the full story of this most interesting case. You know I can keep a secret."

Finch started the car and pulled out into traffic.

* * *

That same day, Detective Joss Carter knocked on the door of a slightly shabby post-war bungalow in Brooklyn. Mrs. Andrada opened the door. "I've been waiting for you."

Joss inclined her head. "I came as soon as I could."

Mrs. Andrada opened the door wide to admit her guest. "I know. Coffee?"

* * *

It was rainy, gray day when the private plane carrying John, Joss and the ashes of Christopher Brandon landed at London's Heathrow Airport and taxied to a private hangar at the back of the air field.

Joss was staring out the window. "Appropriate weather," she commented. John squeezed her hand, not knowing what to say. Joss's mood had been bleak the entire rip.

As the plane pulled smoothly into the hangar and parked, Joss noticed a small group of people in a corner of the building watching closely. She reached out with her Wolf sense to confirm her suspicions and felt the familiar tickle of others of her kind. "Those must be Chris's pack mates," she said quietly.

"They said they wanted to meet us when we arrived," John answered. "They thought he'd died years ago. They were surprised to hear we would bringing him home, they had lost hope."

Joss rested her hand on the plain wooden box that contained Brandon's ashes. "At least he'll get a proper Wolf funeral."

"A fitting end for a warrior." John squeezed her hand as the engines shut down and the cabin attendant lowered the stairs. Joss picked up the box of ashes while John grabbed their suitcase.

As they disembarked, the group approached them. "Welcome to Great Britain, Alphas Carter and Reese," said the oldest member of the group, who looked to be around the same age as Brandon. "The Surrey Pack bids you welcome and extends our hospitality to the travelers."

John inclined his head to acknowledge the formal Wolf greeting. "We thank the Surrey Pack for their hospitality. The Carter-Reese Pack sends its greetings," he replied in proper Wolf fashion.

The formalities over, the leader extended his hand. "I'm Philip Gilford, retired Alpha, Surrey Pack. This is my mate, Marnie, and my son, the current Alpha, Peter. That is his mate, Catherine, next to him," the Old Wolf introduced the group.

"Chris was one of my best mates as we were growing up. Marnie is his mate Marianne's sister. Thank you for bringing him home. I honestly thought this day would never come."

Joss held out the box. "We're glad we could bring him home to rest."

Gilford solemnly took the box. "Did he die like a Wolf?"

"He sacrificed himself to protect the innocent," John replied. He told them the story.

The group was visibly moved. "I should have known Chris would go down fighting one of the most infamous serial killers in history," Gilford shook his head. "I hope you can stay for the funeral. It's tomorrow night."

"We wouldn't miss it," Joss replied.

The next night found John, Joss, and the Surrey Pack standing in a clearing in the Surrey Hills Area of Natural Beauty not too far outside the town of Guildford. Wolves did not have much in the way of formal funeral rites since most of the world's religions had been closed off to them for centuries. Their solution was the usual Wolf answer to any problem, to fall back on the community of the pack. The funeral would start with an Alpha giving the formal eulogy and then the Pack would each take turns reminiscing about the departed. Once everyone had their turn to speak, the late Wolf's ashes would be scattered over the grounds where the Pack would usually take their runs.

"Were Marianne's ashes scattered here, too?" Joss whispered to Marnie during the reminiscing.

Marnie nodded in response. "Yes, Chris brought her home to us after she was murdered, then he vanished after the funeral." She sighed and wiped a tear from her eye. "We never saw him again. Now they're together again."

Joss suddenly felt lighter knowing that Chris and his beloved Marianne were now reunited. She even took a turn sharing a story of Chris playing with little Cali that made the pack laugh.

Once everyone had their chance to speak, the pack watched solemnly as Gilford began to scatter Brandon's ashes. He passed the box off to Marnie, who scattered some more ashes and then passed the box to another Wolf who had also been a childhood friend of Brandon's. The box was passed around until there were no more ashes left.

"Our packmate is at rest with his mate and his friends," Gilford announced, then threw back his head and howled a low, mournful howl. The entire pack, including John and Joss, answered with their own and for a long minute the hills of Surrey echoed with the sound of a pack mourning its lost member.

The howling ended when Gilford ceased his howl and stood quietly. "Everyone is invited to the Fang and Paw pub for refreshments." The pack moved towards the cars parked on the road a short distance away.

"We don't have to go if you don't want to," John said as he and Joss walked to their car. "Wolf wakes are very much like Irish wakes, drunk and rowdy but with more howling."

Joss smiled. "I want to go, I feel like it's time to get a little rowdy."

John smiled and opened the car door for her. Tonight was going to be a night of healing.

* * *

 **There you have it, another Wolf story. Let me know what you think!**

 **I want to throw some love at wolfmusic218 for all her help in whipping this story into shape. Thanks again my friend!**


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